Two Ensigns of Poignancy from 1918

- Kurt Schwitters


The Great Lament Of My Obscurity Three

where we live the flowers of the clocks catch fire and the plumes encircle the brightness in the distant sulphur morning the cows lick the salt lilies
my son
my son
let us always shuffle through the colour of the world
which looks bluer than the subway and astronomy
we are too thin
we have no mouth
our legs are stiff and knock together
our faces are formeless like the stars
crystal points without strength burned basilica
mad : the zigzags crack
telephone
bite the rigging liquefy
the arc
climb
astral
memory
towards the north through its double fruit
like raw flesh
hunger fire blood

- Tristan Tzara

Veiled Morning-light

Lightform Cut By Rusted-Out Metal Wall

Small Tower of Light Lozenges

I hear a saxophone, through a portable stereo, playing a sleepy, sweet version of Edelweiss

I hear a rotary saw cutting plywood, plus more distant hammer shots

I hear semi-rhythmic thawnks of a tennis ball and

I hear the happy slow swirls of jet-roar tracking overhead.

Sin Sobre

NO ENVELOPE