Thursday 6 February 2020

'(dead tones)' -- Michael Mc Aloran


“…this is the new post-post poetry. if we want to mirror the schizophrenia, psychosis of our sociuses, then here it is done with the utmost accuracy.”

–Aad de Gids


…from the onslaught/ breathe of the raw teeth of nothingness the spent laughter of foreign of some death-like pulse given to unshadow as was till never of throughout as if to utter in the collapse of skeletal lights where to having birthed once shattered glass of some ferocity skinning the night to the veins all naught as if to ever echoing throughout a vibrate of exigency shudder blind weight a sudden as if to mimicry to cut to reclaim the maggot tones of what spoken haven to scatter the pelts of long forgotten in the cancerous air as was once so shall it be till rapture ever of closed fist a-bleed sickness to dredge as was once tidal to give sudden reclaim as if to having nothing of the eye’s removal a breakage point a tide of never having before witnessed merely by the reflect of the skyline’s premise as was dragged in the kick & scream of bitter silences where to option is to burn to char a sudden word a semblance etched across the vellum emptily all sung from naught broke shale through the fingers to fall upon where other than no landscape worthy of the winds to clear away the meat of emaciated loveless breaking from fever pitch in sickness & in deathly-like as onward into having no course for the oppress the process lacking in progress cut stone an illuminary absence in the absentee skull as if to say as was in the beginning it has come to end to furrow to nothing more where the silence cannot breath-like in the dead tense the breakage of flesh vibrating in clear dark space it has walked through passageways and sought the exit-tidal pathway dreamt of where a recourse to having nethertheless back steps a motion of this or other than  having of the forgotten nothing more to bare/ as if to collide in the weight of it the shadows vane the absolute in terse dislocation of dispel as to be in a rat’s trace a solace emptily as scar upon scar nothing of the having ever been otherwise no vault of which to drag from in the hung light quartered then vast as speaketh from no distance from in elixir of burning as if to longing to begone as if to end were to/ all vast yet no distance to taste/ nothing other than to be nothing of nor to see through cataract skin of the cataract view of dishevelled meat burning throughout as cold spasm taketh from the outstretched skyline in a catascope of wet blood nocturne reek of spent lights of the dim forgotten as circus goes the razor roundelay the bones shattered till obsolete claim upon nothing ever of as was as if to nectar of silenced overtures of the mebrane’s kiss upon stone nothingness bludgeoning the gait the shadow formed & frozen upon the wall as in the mirror gazes inwardly into where to final is to lack all manner of which obscure as if to to echo drift what dim in viscid irredeem weightless travail in specious ever as before as dead alone for all time a tidal wasteage of ever of till scarred without longing skinned of ever after all turning from the electrical cable frenzy of scattered orchids where to be is to being of the rat’s pulse the teeth smeared frozen in an outwailing scream of discharge broken to become other than in a sarcophagus of night endless where to touch is to dissipate merely of the skin in-dream of the lightless space where ever-as divides all sung from vast astringent where to absence scattered the dead pelts long forgotten into a pit of assassin lapse of final absolute ever of until where froze wind knock upon as burn of into of the burning to be gone throughout all dense what will till trace redempt upon one knee genuflect before the absence of in retrocede concession no in the sickness of the bile rising to the throat of it blood spatter upon a blank wall nothing of the seen nothing of the weight nothing of the following after nothing of the hour that pierces/ cannot/ as to rolling around in shattered glass the emaciation of rat in the buried bones of membrane where to exit signs of unspoken weight as if to shadowing collectively the crush of spit polish nullity a matter of fact trace through the skin’s cataract where to break unto in the absence feel of given lest it biteth amber nocturnes of frozen grey mists in the nauseate of silence never to expel through the static hours of skin stretched upon as of throughout biting down upon to sever where to mockery is the hyenic laughter of the death-bearing tidal as as if to into from what will in which none of graceless to unto nothing of as the candied corpses mount in the cupped hands of the dawn as nothing to feel with nothing to breathe through never of the beseeched from carved into the flesh into the meat into the bones revealed where sudden as if to fall is tread without motion static as the blind lapse the utter dark the reclaim dead tones of some silver intermezzo collision pulse seeking of the out of reach till spent force no nothing of the afterward where to breakage of the shit-smeared glass of it the eyes that cannot quantify bound limbs scattered in a winter orchard of denuded exigency it is of the sung/ stun/ vague the light that continues through the forgotten salient the grin of it invisible nothing as before to echo of nor of to speech reclamation shat purpose & a frozen view where the dawn has frozen in the paralysis of it night cancelling all as from a view of which it is null/ a silent abort…

(…ideation skinning the blackened meat from liquid bones to touch where to shadowing is the nullity of the light that pierces scald of the abortive a shit-streaked sky of vacuum breathless closure of fist unravelling to reveal the dismembered hand of a child where to utter merely of the dead till breathe of confetti drag hilt what sheen sickness in the lapse of grip of the sweat of the brow nothing of to claim in the reek night absence of the forgotten eye alone of wishbone trilogy as nectar to fall from the cruciform trees breakage nothingness scattering its seeds to the dead airs of memory dissolved in future tense of cold weight absolve till amber closure fucking dragging out the tines from the skin of absenteeism nothing of the scald the dissolve of silent…)


"(dead tones)" is available to purchase here





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From 'the worse/ the better done'/ DM Mitchell & Michael Mc Aloran/ Incunabula Media 2023

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