The Exodus of Clemence ( Prosopagnosi & Anesthesia)
O. Clemence. O.
Is the line planted through these Kingdoms
Birth
Death.
Wrappers.
Skin over blood.
Blood ovens.
Where the flying ended.
I have no magic monsters. Left.
They were stolen from my shelves before I lay curd upon them.
My veins sizzle. Like hypothermia.
To die
And walk into the mist where nothing is mistaken.
And I want peace.
I am horse dead.
Exhausted like bridges.
No one can be trusted.
Lift me to the ghosts. (They are often sexual.)
Deathflyer.
We shall go.
Dear Clemence.
Let me turn
Towards him.
The son of a son.
The
Iron Tree.
When he went by by
I went too.
O. Clemence.O.
The journey wants to kill me.
O. Clemence. O.
At the hand bath.
The angels
Wore
Gloves.
The greatest of them.
Did they notice themselves?
An individual wearing gloves.
Lifting me up
Lifting me down.
A slime in the sermon.
Weather
Is to be rich
Is to be poor.
Fields of man.
A bad crop.
I walked away like a pushing against the bone.
I walked away with a broken limb.
Love is loving me.
And my lips shall never part
To speak
Of your whereabouts.
O. Clemence. O
I love thee.
At the grapevines
Where I write to you on the glass.
In the morning as it prays.
Over my Judaic body.
I wake the machinery.
To mull about.
They sliced your bread.
But I sewed it back for you.
Whole.
With threads from my fraying black skirt
Which faced the seas, time and time again,
Of
Him.
Him.
Him.
Him.
O. Clemence. O.
God is blue like Dahlia.
And a mouth
Like turnips.
Omens in the fro.
Bless you and your life.
O. Clemence. O.
The greed of nations are passages.
Passage speak.
Why speak around like a ghost without a kitten.
Speak and get it over with.
Every year is a spitting year.
Cattle they wander
In the broken cities
The empty
Palm of the farmers.
Accept the warnings.
You are warned.
The revolt will ravage
The revoltors.
Belief is not in the cold streets.
But in my righteous stone baby.
Baby.
Baby.
Baby.
Baby.
Syria’s Slaughter.
Massacre’s Masquerade
Mecca's
Midnight Ball.
Send no one to the streets.
The Brotherhood is as bad as what was had.
You are better off throwing
The chandeliers into Bullet Boulevard.
O.Clemence. O.
He who follows me
Will live a life of Rose’s Remorse.
(Not a bad life.)
O. Clemence. O.
I am mystic.
With a cloud bouquet
Over the groom.
I rained
On a poet’s husband.
O. Clemence. O.
How delicate the men I find within.
My love is sacred.
And my love fell to slumber.
I brought him to the eternal fame fortune.
And his widow
Shall
Never be without.
O. Clemence. O.
I am mystically chasing a snake in the garden of Eden because it is entertaining and the snake is not sexual to me.
I have seen the morning rise on the foreheads of the dead.
I have lunged into the rotting bodies for safety and to be fed.
I was. I was.
Stronger.
Than
He.
O. Clemence. O.
Beyond the real and imaginary break walls.
He bangs his oars against the rock
Of
All walls.
He calls
My name.
My name.
In a wooden row vessel.
Whose light
Is lit
With the blood of Goats.
He bangs the laughing tides
Into love songs.
From memory.
There is a way to him.
Predominance.
He arches his body.
To the drumming dusk.
What can the light
Of things
Promise.
How did I inherit him?
When I was ill
And in the Valley of Blood
Promises where thrown away.
My loves is a villa root.
I have decided.
When. Exactly.
And the most beautiful words I have ever read were written in French.
I wanted to remain still and chilled like a tombstone.
Unopened.
To the material of the world.
Where
Death
Consists.
If I continue this mourning
For him for him.
I will fall in love with mourning
Him.
Here is the plate.
I did not know he would carry it.
Over
The Composition's Compass Cinders
Comets
Crying.
Death is the sexual turn on
Of all times.
Amen.
O.Clemence.O.
The leaves are lovers.
Write me the most astounding love letter
One could receive.
Tell in sentences
What your blood smells like.
Tell in sentences
What your neck does when you are pleasured.
O. Clemence.O.
I did get through scraps of metal.
Where my hunger
Bent time and space.
Muscle Brain Fat.
The Nest of Holiness.
You are the wisdom of Silence.
You are the wisdom of Science.
Colours on my ivory shirt.
Art will not die in my hands.
Do you think about it?
Do you?
My God
Will you see me or waste at the look out?
O.Clemence.O.
I went to the secret shores.
Dreaming to be restored.
I looked into the Black tide pools
And found
A surfer's broken board.
My how the rainbows in everyone's life time
Is consumed
By the dream of justice.
Justice is a factory.
And puffs out its amount of
Smoke into the sky.
And I was in line.
At its closed doors.
With serious accusations and implications.
Others Among.
Is it Borneo said the Englishman
Sitting in a stained chair
In the dangerous lands.
Well. It is Borneo.
Although
I did not know what he was talking about.
Perhaps.
The blossoms of Borneo.
Blossoms Borneo Breathtaking
SPAN.
5 Years.
Either Sides.
They all died.
Killed and Killed Back.
O.Clemence. O.
Cover my body.
Hungry Here
No stranger to poverty.
O.Clemence.O.
Cover my body.
Deed Disputes.
Rulers Die.
But.
Ruled die too.
I am shaking
From my own hunger history.
Artist that are bread now
In beds of shared graves.
A shared meal
A congealed cadaver cafeteria
For the Birds of Borneo.
Plans.
A signature. A mark.
Yours.
O.Clemence. O.
I am tall with claws.
Vermeer Vermeer
Broke
Down with tears
When he tried to bid me
Farewell.
Farewell.
Come here. Come here.
Don't be afraid. Girl. Don't be afraid.
I cannot paint you now.
This is between us.
The seas you will break
In 2.
With words in the water of your mouth.
And you shall write
On the ocean's surface.
The echoes of swells.
Be well my child
When I expire
There will be so few
Who will take to you.
My brushes are bundled.
My paints are corked.
My canvases are rolled.
Address my window of light
With pulled Damask.
And wrap yourself well.
Choose any direction.
For I am dying young.
Not having saved you a guilder.
And they will slay you
With rejection.
There shall be no rose method for you.
So. Seek shelter
With Genghis Khan.
In his secret tomb.
Drink his coffee
But do not become his virgin.
And do not forget
To rise again.
As always and as the way things do become
You will continue to eat your meals on pots lids
In the room where they slaughter the Boars.
My dear
Do not let this put you away.
All will tire of themselves.
And look
Quite
Like Boar Heads.
My darling darling darling
Brown daughter.
O.Clemence.O.
They are holding the mirror to close to their faces.
Arsenic Gardens
Was the place I walked into.
Heavenly Creatures as Sudden Blue Grew
There.
And pink cotton balls catch in your throat.
When you were over hearing me
Did anything
I say
Go home to your soul.
Move you.
Like nursed milk
In an early morning
Barn's Bitter Beams. Straining
Tears.
(I saw Van Morrison in the back of the barn under a soft light bulb hung to a rafter
Encircled by dust singing 'Blue Diamonds'.)
In Michael's fields
Hold a mirror to your soul.
And
The mourn is not useless.
I am.
In separation. A better person.
Sad.
But better.
O.Clemence. O.
It is something like Africa
And a newspaper writer at the door.
Now days.
The aparition of my life as it films.
The people here have exhausted me.
You can tell.
I am not knocking down ladders of emotion with anyone.
Here.
I am numb to this geography.
I am not one of the uncalled.
I do know that going is gain.
Giving is Godly.
Getting is Greed.
Hearing is
The most exhaustive gas to inhale.
(There a man in the square.
Think I might want to go there.)
Chair number 2.
Near the get a way door.
Forget-Me-Nots
Twisted around the child who had woken before sunrise.
As she rolled like a corn cob
Embraced or embracing in the earth early eyes
East and turning.
Turning for independence from the matter.
Consciously and not so
Involved
In
The
Return.
Dog House Chambers of a questionable womb.
She stabbed the colored pencils into the earth, the summer Nebraskan earth.
Quacking and flirting with cats that followed so far.
Why is it cosmic,
The evolution of extinct.
Begins.
A little girl watching.
And burying
Corsets and high heels
For the reefs of centipedes.
This is real. I mean, there is a hand in some condition in the glove.
O.Clemence. O.
This is it.
He passed by I
Did not notice and forgot his name.
I do not remember you.
Maybe a smell or a sound.
God did have mercy on me.
He let me forget everyone.
O. Clemence. O.
I am squeaking by as part of the people.(Snikers.)
And the smells of their echoing
Verbs and Urine.
Is not fitting their size
Of history.
O. Clemence. O.
There is the most imaginable feeling
In the sky.
In the sky my husband gives himself
To the perfect prophet of open doors.
I have conversations of confidantes.
With him.
And. Them.
The Pear Torso Trees
Could fall into the winter.
What is the formation of
These birds?
How do they mean to me?
There was a pink chair
In the smoke
Of Rubbish.
O. Clemence. O.
This is the last leg.
The Legs of Legs.
Hags & Hens.
Only bare things
Need to be packed.
This is the East
Journey.
All
Gets Undone.
I will never return.
Lowered candles might be left behind.
The view towards the eastern sea will remain
But not the seer.
Else in the fire pits along the shore of obedience.
And the carving in the black rocks will remain for all time.
I am leaving
And no wharf could hold me.
No heart was offered
To love me.
As I should be loved.
No room
Beckoned Beautiful Balconies
For the words strikes of light sounds
Of
My life.
Nothing could hold me.
Not the Wizards
Not the Book of Spells
Not the Book of Speeds.
Not the Heads of the Mudangs.
Not the Oils of Voodoo.
Not the Cats of Midnight.
Nothing could hold me.
So exits were made.
And now evanescent.
The paranoia dreams elegance in fantasy
The construction of a very fine performance.
O. Clemence.O.
And so the ending
Is a collection.
Of
Sanity.
Once. More.
I was never a mausoleum , a place for visitors to leave
Their tokens of self grief
Gratitude.
I know I knew and I knew and I knew.
What I was waiting for
Fur in the motion.
Soul gone.
Oceans.
A few
Faces in the blindness of faces.
My names is my name.
Whatever it is to you.
The folly in memories
I am being reimbursed for.
O. Clemence. O.
Every one here is a coward.
None.
Rose above.
And what did
Did not
Do it here.
None.
And what did
Did
In the Cuban Channels
Crawling 26 miles
From Florida
At midnight.
Exhaustion is exhaustion.
It has to do with how close
To death
We come.
The twins of the Underwood
Were killed in the Irish.
My children are dead, Clemence.
All 3 of them.
The last 4th
Is safe
For
Eternity.
And from
Eternity.
Things People.
Have a way of serving their purpose.
How could I love
The Birth Place of Beasts?
I worded harder than Gods
For these
Resurrections.
Resurrections.
O. Clemence. O.
The reason for the rest
Is the reason of the dangerous journey.
It was real rain falling and it
Rained more than water.
Choirs in chairs died.
And so I learned.
To Walk Around Dead People.
Amen.
And luck be in our lungs.
(Excerpt from an over written piece. Thank you facebook for your notes. Satchel Tate Cornstalk)











