/lit/ - Literature

Book IV: Prime & Patricia

(1)

Let me tell you about an Orchard's conscious transformation into a Vineyard:

What low-lying coast had come into being
from across that rocky jut;
I had reached it on a fickle day
on the morning bus;
the original artisans of these parts,
themselves a fairer succession to the sooty Stragglers
who remained the stoic Serfs to their savage nature
as their Brothers became adorned as green eagles just across the border
their sects both abandoned their firm Fruits here
that had been confined to the stormy fuschias
which had convalesced from their feted fertility
through the fringeland who was acting such a vain diorama:
the washed-up weed all scraggled and warmly saturated in its rancid basking,
the sand ground coarse from the latter,
the deceptively pacific spray which had splayed nieve gulf men's vessels
on his foolish desire to be embraced by them for one instant…
once all coalescing in their unique estuary
now being admired like a lavender-frock'd model forever idle
as an underestimated watercolor
now hanged by a nail upon the drafts of her own similar galleries;

The snaking of the vines
floored on the ground are interpreted as robust
as the flowering of the most lusty sequoias through their turbid medium;
on my ant's scamper up every daunting grain that makes the Seaboard
see clear down her big South;
from this evidence, I had supposed they had no other aim in life
only her invested Revelers remained 'tween the photolithic dales
in favor of yielding more fermented thyme
hidden in the confines of the valley
sober Weeds swill their tart Zinfandel...

So the sugars stratified on the underside of the Teat,
their fleshy lymph had thickened,
and degenerated the well-intention'd seed!
Adorned in such ermine, I stroked it...
It had graced even the humble adobe of its streets,
but who had attracted the tarnished of palate
in addition to the by-product of olde Palatinate?
‘Twas argyll pastels of sewn Spirit that brittled their outer skin,
that had consumed the poison and petrified its fleshiness
into tessalatory scaling on their delicate Organ...
O, to be a parasite on their confused hospitality!

Going down for the first time,
I saw the Vineyard of God on the murky sea
when I first came to this place
I wanted Old Man Prime's Bride as an ideal,
not as the smattered individual I had truly laid eyes on,
for my own, even going to the bar
for a dry slake from his Chalice,
except that I knew this man’s taste meant other Sours as well...

I nestled myself inside the silty shoulder of the shore
so ceramic like a salt-and-pepper Clavicle
so prone to each tame tide;
buried in its cold sediments,
I watched the surfers
etch along what little arching tolerance
those aborted surges could provide,
the lines of their lives
unaware of it in the joy of their novice;
not a care to each dousing wave
leeching the my form's grave covering
of any Oil...