poetry by Sarah Goodwin

Ryan Scamehorn

Damaged Globe


Damaged globe of blue light, awkwardly spinning on axis: the
 intermittent frames cut open the doors with gaseous hinges.
Pedestal village in frozen blue swamp. A trail weaves into a mouth sharp with
the anticipation of a village square.
There is no center.

The houses smell of mace and of floating charge.

It is the concave blossom that spits and spurts all the indignities, the
 uninviting receptacle.
“Move from the aggravation of metal,” quoth the nails. “There is hardly cover from the pierce of maudlin horrors.”
Counter-clockwise in a pit of bulimic colors, the comical amputee raises
 her sagging arm. Actress and theatre in putrid, spinning gauze.

Her head cocks back, and all fits of laughter run out onto the floor.


Phenomenology of film. The artificial lens has born a fly’s perspective
 on the world; mutilated a clean plane into a honeycombed corona with a decapitated top.
Video expresses the base qualities of color and of human character.
Ontological defecation in the patches of saffron at the ‘red levels’
The pixel defiles. False water ejaculated through in a cloud of perfumes.
These perfumes are drilled from the bones of dead actresses at the bottom of
the pit with swinging weeds. Old fossils in the amorous void.

The antistrophe is unmoving in a pool of soft rubber.



The elegiac qualities of motion are focused and magnified on the surface of the semi-sphere. Reticulate and indignant tetrahedron.

Once, during the last incarceration and the day of the Quaon, a tepid impression found its way to the treasury. Impossible planes impregnated with semen coated in a new polymer.


How can the artificial eye convey pain? Synchronized ribbon that is a contextual razor. Ephemeral ladder of images—dead brother and urban Argonaut. The body completes the bond and mimics the inverted alkaloid with every tyranny.
Let us pray to the negligible homage of the nerve’s resistance!

The skin has shut all of its shutters, and blood confides in obsolete
envelopes. Constructed, though, in spite of an estranged table. It is a
delighted impression that replicates all sounds, forms, actions, emulates
love, displaces mobility and directs insights; it is the last prime number on the gray ceiling. It is thick with the fibers of prismatic constellations! The visual catharsis of a limbic Orpheus!


Room of austere extravagance. It is the detached eye that pirouettes in the space with synesthesia. Tall windows and thick walls. There is a metallic pendulum and a soft dial. It adds the permutations of chaotic luster. The
 chimes are crisp on melancholy metals.
An exterior landscape is the nursed wound of a framed hole.

Masonic site that overlooks a sleepless and weary town. Organic deluge in
the rush of the conglomerating pilgrimage. The husks of all countries burn
their ceremonial robes in a single pit. Archaic symbols in the cyclical
inundation. Sacrificial tools in old fur.

It is the time for the invention of new genitalia.



© 2001 Ryan Scamehorn

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