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Organic Poetry

Septemberís Search for Duende

(After Lorca, For Peter Ludwin)


The search ends when the

duende is encountered as the reason why a bit of bile

is stuck @ the base of the throat†††† clearly


a muse or angel†† but a

power says Lorca


not an angel of protection†† ora latent antepasado

a lost ancestor to shape

behavior for the preservation of the strain ((the strand))


is not madness per se††††† but

a†† reasonwhy the ear-slicing madness exists†† the

struggle what makes it so.††††† What makes it so deadly

& fierce††† the push toward homicide re-directed†† yet

notapathper se

a†† notionor

concept†† concept what triggers the itch no skin-scratching will cure.


It is the fire Artaud knew

burns†† the†† cellslikeamemoryofcrucifixion


blood w/ no avenue to splurt implodes&marks a soul

like a nuclear tattooor


glass in the jar we thot was sugar-filled.

That freshness wholly unknown

it requires a living body as interpreter

exhausts all intellect

that ultimate metallic quality of death

it coulda been an aneurysm††† it

rejects measured rhythm††† the wild river pours its own path

all the cows stranded on the last patch of higher ground.

The duende is what creates the subtle grimace as

sweet as prolonged uncertain childbirth†† the

geometry of destruction

one force of nature mother didnít tell you about

has pushed men to madness & Lorca

learned duende scares the muse††† it may be

that sound behind you when the forest is on fire

it is the force what compromises your grip on the cliff††† a rock

breaks off from under your foot & duende

w/ the taste of your heart in your throat††††† duende is

all smiles that you never see††††† the

styles you break from the moon on a moonless nightís incessant tug into the blood-filled dawn.



8:15A - 9.1.01