RYAN SKRABALK
from Goes On Now Except: Continued Songs of Future Baseless Depravity
Verso 2.
Who can ask for more besides the object. Like a star held in (or for public chorus) quiet the stigma repeated for inside voices for quiet patterns to be draped. Things just stop. Following. We learn to recognize that search for going, the frayed generous seeing with. “Paradise Lost” we cannot see why the traffic. That site is a person. That person is a vector. In that vector is a series of contour which accrete for “personality.” Your concept in the exhaustion of quiet (standing still among contours of light, which abbreviates the surrounding gravity) altogether movement beautiful. And varied and found in prosodic developments of outward sensation to an interval
of love in the superstory rendition of haptic notes. Sixteenths to give we.
Verso 2.1
Wounded and sly. Rubbed the choose. Does the paper and then the words know the rhetoric of myself and diction by now. “Sombre Reptiles.” Wickedly the sky wickedly kept in mind mine like turning granite or sundial gesture. Adjunct speed viscosity. Draining away the aura. Metamorphosed underbelly. In naming it you must turn
away.
Verso 2.2
Devastated. Yet as twilight leaping hyperlink loading white in pill morning barely. Arrow of wrens there flexing skyburnt muscle. Whined through glass, the insides of it. The guts of it are wrong. To take away the tense from instrumentation. Instrumentation whereas scaffold in thought (in angles, textured light). As if scored as if rehearsed and recalling concerto. As if recalling the depth of the concerto of the viaduct but in removing dominion. I reach out explain. Explain your face with touch. Core. A small ribbon
left from the cortex of shrunken evening.
Verso 2.3
Deepened. Out in tallgrass turning the sun. Deepened the wind. Deepened the gesture of color and that. Licking the field the beloved items. Creek. Divided the hill. A different world for everyone open and strong deepened for anyone I was. Assured. Heartbeat felt rose gravid and the car crash sky followed a diaspora of my conclusion. To make a mistake you first need love. Approaching (as in it got darker) I shine in answer. River air. Wind cleaning like randomly life handwoven the sensations of math, of jazz, of future walking. To be the loud part of night but not. The dark part. Light fills
the sigh of that rock because I could not find the perfect.
Verso 2.4
Overwhelming aroma caught between secular events
of hotel fascist arrangement. Grip.
Verso 2.5
Humans poured inward, their sweet grunting filigrees clear and hovering as fermata. Loss leader. Placed the maimed thing in a welcoming backwards place. Bends around the shrine of now like curved air or. It is called presence. Presence (held in that basket delirious for loving) how I make the contagion for going. Echoed lace. Cascade of him I wipe off, taste. Churned and beaten. A coagluant of inquiries a fuel for terrestrial explaining. Files of men. Frothed as in spreading everywhere but like a sentence, over. On the shores of the government. I fell asleep in the gathering, on the glue and the twilight atlas. In the carpark past the cathode and within the moth wings, within the internet. Within the mist and the Budwieser tightywhiteys. What is the use inside
of us. Pulsing with drip.
––––
Recto 2
Claim dependents. So what
if, to taste. Churned and out of blue
in that vector is darker) I do
feel somewhat ruined by vocals
in mind mine like curved air or. It is
called presence. Water algorithmic and swollen with itself, with thoughts of people
and tightywhiteys. Prearranged expanse from thought but it would heirloom and then
it was doomed landscape, developing the scene like skin, stretched over Interstate 95, you go there
and get in the Great Plains talk back to me,
suck on the landscape. The prose of it got darker) I think
I know something
like feeling, like hotel
pool clapping
almost. Motionless
field but going quickly
speaks
Recto 2.1
I wipe off taste. Churned and out of blue, in
that vector is its burnt lace is overwhelming
aroma caught in the twilight atlas. In naming
it with. Not owned. That's your music more or minus blur. His name was
then it got darker) I do feel somewhat ruined by people. Prearranged You
in bleached topaz. The dog shit in the day waking and in the cathedral
vibrates with no world, with countermovement. Weft. Any day
waking is to an impossible region looking out
of speech. Serene. Ideas motherfucker
a lot of work for
not much money.
Stash. Dulled by
wanting. On the way
dream the river
window
at you. Ideas
Recto 2.2
Many types of it was researchable
landscape, developing back to me full moon
Dollar General. Repetition is a sentence, over
the tense from invasive species. A grace extends
whimper to thee. He was from Syracuse
and clearly rendered. People on the truck forearms
bent in thistle behind the paper and their sweet grunting
filigrees clear and hovering as volume. The avant-garde passes
through me on for everyone open and starts again immediately.
altogether movement beautiful. And varied fieldwork
expressive vocals come in
Monarch waystation
mind mine curved
air or invoice
it is called
presence (held
in the sun
––––
Ryan Skrabalak recently wrote Donna (Tree Jumps Rainbow, 2023). Other books are forthcoming. He lives in “Kansas,” where he edits Spiral Editions, organizes for AFT local 6403, and deejays on the radio.