Milne - In darkest capital: collected poems

paradise was never attractive; it was accepted as part of the bargain because it meant the avoidance of its opposite. This did not yet make the negation of the negation, or the negative dialectic, into a product of secularization. But it suggests the invaluable historical advantage of being able to say that the Messiah has not yet come. What has already been can only be disappointing. The chiliastic enthusiasts of both sacred and worldly peripeties have always understood that. Hans Blumenberg, The Legitimacy of the Modern Age

Go litel bok, invoice these strain line shadow inks, or suffer in silence imago mephitis, I can smell your poison squirt of ingrained chalice, squids in blood-dust of leavening slates, it blakes too, or as art suffering dusts this its antique time and that there monstrous word glory in suffering.

A dangerous demagogic word holds us surely, like the masses the measure is suffer; for these abolitionist crudits, as raw mangetout, may smash up (piano) while your smudge spill barks out beyond purely verstehenden explication, in these hand sewn diagnostics of future past. If as tool performed the so forth poises genie, angle as massage stones of which the knights Templar will build over geo-roof folie de patrie, and not notorious dress codes of tea-room zones, in memoriam tears torn in atomiser stutter sprays: but which public takes this reading room challenge to continuous administrative contacts? We press on in class marks etching wretches, we as two roles flush out imagoless twinnies, touchstones plate these nail grimy as naught or nothing under the optic sun: dyou know it too, lumpen prole boho, all declass like fat sump fury, eh fairy with the awful smell glues mephitic.

Would I were as Arion, or as the story told, choosing harp fish swordpens to take the plank, the egg, the swallowing passion in supperless dke. Where is that dolphin now? we still adhere to the doctrine of redemption which originally connoted a slave purchasing his liberty: not to change its world but to escape this, it has flown off the wheel, off griefs thole misery while vine sprays against are its expenses. For dolphin song no season supposes such slavery orphic, while urban revolution remains roused as lyres for the hungry he hath filled with such good things, of which one among is hunger annke, potlach expenses defrayed deformist, details lacking as if normal proceeding will follow slaughter, or our harmony parts dissolve clear and brittle. That trump of revelatory will-lessness breath avers how pre-Arctic the lapsus never was, never Adams before graceless worldly games pall and all to the din of make it thine, wanderlust times where no tour like it he dreams, as rushes breathe and the snow-bunting pains, nesting monkish homes (pre-gardens), before the yes worldly cross-treck terns all dovecotes mysterious return, while saying like ptarmigans want the genius malignus: I am not nor hope be lest this history yet, but as no locust trip fastens down epistles, nor if we define progress as burning gold eagles, will oblige this dissolution in camel shirt reaching, past oblivion straws, and, ascetic, wait skuas revenge on burning magnesium.

Gulls disgorging throats cry food, where are my lies now? and gash to treachery, as will you read me in fragments, so press on dark glacial char, these glooms heirs to progress, where dreamer declines flock waywards.

What about then as if Cant of Latter Day Saints is adrift, white feathers, malgr tout adrift seas singing bugger thy hymns alas amid ilex. These no-churches in pages dust community are blest satellite and video monasteries; I kid you not word-smog petroglyph-boulevards, just sing anthems to the tannoy blue mountain blend thy lord think on of hard times revolutionists that is this my yellow and coffee dust halo. Stop for orangeade in class struggle museums where druids of domestic diamat dial adjust down our Lady of the Garden Centre; so alphabet ratio in D.I.Y. Church dawns on fishers of networks puritanical, all undistorted or wish-sweet as bliss revenge; sound bite angel, go wholly public spherical. A dispiriting melancholia screen burns, regardless with crouch brow diffusion, reams against sorrowful natural history, its weight of facies hippocratica now to well up with proper dues where landscaping peters out in forlorn, petrified thimbles and plastic tears.

Theres roads across to fashion hermitage where all out with the must pass muster, curdling instruments of resumption, as erring no blood letting fails the succour memorial of blood, in them there hills where wordless deforestation, without reply, is the back catalogue of ironed out anger. This rush drowns out familiar species lament in the accurate strain upon half-line gardens, as fresh caught ruins of herd doubts and tired love sigh in the book of wells lascivious, if its fine! and aimless eclipsing furrows the banished plod of its sincerely crisp phenomenology. Lichen sidles against their arid kenosis and will be jargoned to those guitarra yes strains by those back to second nature word boys of ach! expletive decay, rewarding for plein air stills, just yearning for that anorganic sybilline rivalry of being in print, hark hectoring, like as could the species pass away better yet.

All along the low street hopes akimbo, and plants wilder but denizened out spit it, upon this cobble sliding hurts all midlothian drag-heart, while the miles bilious rain smiles better, which now castles into palaces we have not outlived, and feels blood apocryphal drive the denizens, vomiters, and ye of scant hope shuffling among rucksack rashes, to wish some purdah for to be and not notes on the decline of Scottish murder. The Sappho parchment clasps our bitten horizon: