Thursday, April 22, 2021

Michael Mc Aloran, From “paralysis gestures”, (forthcoming from Oneiros Books) & otherwise...

Untitled (Section 136/2)
51cm x 25cm 
Image by Michael Mc Aloran 



From “paralysis gestures”
(forthcoming from Oneiros Books) & otherwise...

 
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…nothing ever there/ (echo)/ some dim divide/ circular silences & a lightless calling out...
 
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...of the poetics of disaster/ here layeth the pale depth of language garrotted on the broken pathways of a silence never once heard...
 
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...shadowless all spun in the absence of the word to grace the emptily of the meat’s futility..
 
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…why wrong. what wrong. further. nowhere. ever...
 
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…thy cross take up & gather none...
 
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…sick try for the waken. call cards no flowering sight. stay ashore. breathe pageant mock sun light froze closure eye. all still what lessen echo. sky-fold origami azure. (repeat)...
 
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...till live take up thy bones & rot as circus growth indigenous colours bland faith accord. nothing of the matter of asphyxiate cold shoulder treble tremor sky alone blessed what till mark take up thy live thy ocular concede...
 
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…(I listed out the present & made the blind men within me see)...
 
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…play don't run yes run aground with scissors...
 
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…words or no & the decibel edge of meaningless...
 
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(…he said that they wanted only the old language of the nothing new beneath the sun. a bead of sweat fell from his brow as he dug/ feeding the suicide flowers of silence & entity. there was nothing left him but vibration tones/ the embrace/ the unkempt stones & blind oblivion…)
 
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as once realized. forfeit. rigor mass. with less force. called ashore unto tearing bound ever-vacancy turn.
 
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dead left of center & all that what once loved betrothed to the unknowable unknown...
 
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beseech no. that once. stitch mouth breath lapse echo trace. as if to eyeline. long distance short. unaware...
 
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faster lessened spinning wheel of bone lock-shadow dream. to the teeth of edge...
 
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as if to mock where obsolete neither absolute. inward coil of bitter in outcry. spent light. the culling & the dawn...


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…said lacking lack at the hilt edge of the disease/d spinal rip a solace attribute skin deep skinned a-burn bone deep the wound to sense to aptitude scarred without longing spit upon an open grave a gutter's love caress/ed it close the door…
 
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Michael Mc Aloran was born in Belfast, (1976). His work has appeared in numerous zines, magazines & anthologies. He is the author of over 30 collections of poetry, prose poetry, aphorisms and prose. His most recent publications were with Editions du Cygne (FR), VoidFront Press (U.S), Veer Books, (U.K) & also by Black Editions Press, Infinity Land Press (U.K) & Oneiros Books (U.K).

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