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NEW POEM BY LOUISE BAK



Goetia

rutilated quartz pyramid, turning on its gold vermeil, braided band,
skittered like wee rodent dents on a compact of blotting powder, in
trying to open his lid's fallout, not knowing if he actually lifting the
the mid portion's diamantes in siam. steering the cell display's form,
slung below a glider, with an upright bent. wind warily at the nylon
rear of his long rise shorts, tilting the device. cranes it the other way
in sighting trees trimmed to the 1000 meter altitude. it pitches again
in his balancing by the concrete ledge, the carnelian labret watched
sprang ahead of him, toward clamour of flare gases, like in muscle-
propelled force feedback. a distended “de morte,” with “transire ad
vitam.” pulls him from the propelled reaction from the pounding of
a seismic truck's hydraulic weights, rubbing at lower lid margin, he
shifts a snuffle by the sliced-off corner of the sofa module. harking
for the sanctus, through the strip windows, repeatedly scratched, as
he awks like in the sudden turn of a cup of yuanyang, with its snag
of a pewter token, doctor who's sonic screwdriver. snatched by the
pressed up trine against the leaned duckboard. laughter taken hold,
with closed hands rapped on the opposum vertebrae from kaiju on
an upper arm. the one pattered closer to the semicircle, after being
routed in connect four, glanced off to a side, as if to appeal to push
more to no one, his head bobbed in tipping a rickety chair's devoré
pixelated collar in dots, while bumped the
m'hai with the “ay” and
“ee,” to “oo” resumed to improve the section of the choristers with
rackety intakes of breaths. slapped pair of black-trousered knees in

turn, butted with breaths, pitched stutter bark while the boy passed
by, in the logoed button-down like them, with changed for omome
hair. a slap inrushed missed the neck, clenched at the root-permed
appearance, spun at the angle where the “ah” subsumed by “
hau,”
in a crooked bound, knocking the music stand, its metal rod, used
to alter its height collapsed, while draggedly stringing “con” with
“fundator,” at what they blurted had happened. leaned to the brass
nailheads, in the ecru suiting, the aluminum of a clipboard sensed
cold at the calcaneus bone. he raises the grip to the chart's ranking
the pet de soeur sales by the week, to help counter acts of religious
discrimination, increasing against christians -folds the sheet against
itself. gloppy streak from the shortcrust felt at the thenar, as he tries
to not crumple, where it drooped mucilaginous at a corner, with the
soaked basil seeds, unincorporated. he creeps the edge down, just a
line to their dark cores, like a colon in viscid coating. edging down
to what's ahead, two vertebral limbs of the spine's kyphosis, drawn
almost parallel, an obcordate shape stippled at its recess, absent of
the first lumbar body. he sets it down at the slosh of vita coco, in a
sports carafe, with the de méule's criss-cross back to him, shuffling
with, “
nei zan.” clutching himself in his bony jaw, with the organ's
stops tuned to meantone temperament, receiving by the metal door,
set in a wall of scarred plaster, the latest name of a boy passed with
osteosarcoma with the graffiti “burnfag,” parted from those gone in
wars, to an oval embroidery frame's flexible faux bois, jawline buss


de morte transire ad vitam, a line fragment from Gabriel
Fauré's Requiem, meaning from death cross over to lifem'hai, not (Cantonese)hau, thick (Cantonese)
confundator, cursed be (Latin)
nei zan, you really (Cantonese)

new poem by Louise Bak.

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