Arthur Spota Issue 8 2018-12-24T23:20:09+00:00

Arthur Spota

As Above

A sun kestrel arched on a siphon of nectar
A sun flint flayed on earth’s virginal altar
If it weren’t for a sleepwalker’s forest
Night and day would be the skin of shadows
Palpable shadows enthralled by rain
        and the shifting rumblings of ghosts

One surmounts the atmosphere with contaminants
        driven by a distorted slip of magnetic chains

By morbid thrusts of human misery across a blasphemous fabric protracted

In the West radiant emissions crystallize directly from vapor
In the East, the moon is the earth’s shadow
Insolent, mistreated, insatiable
Sullen in a unified nuance with the sun and its parallels
Immeasurable beyond
A glacier of enigmas
The point at which the ecliptic intersects the celestial

A Sun Dogs coiled dream
An octave drop
Between Motion and Intransigence,
        Delta and Peninsulas

Between a Middle Latitude devoured by eruptions

Devoured by madrigal spirits appeased
        by ultraviolet susurrations

Devoured between the seizure
        and the perfection of that which is Invisible

A Belt of Venus in fevered negation
Absorbs dense thermogenetic waves
The foundations of which
Stroke the hidden magick
        malefic by osmosis

In Manhattan, a gap opens without a voice
A past distorts a portal of optics reborn in old men,
        Illusion, their secondary power of inversion,
              subsumed by ungovernable exclusions

A Typhoon occulted:
It’s dawn when the eclipse occurs
It’s dusk when the rain of fish begins

It’s twilight when the Aurora Australis
        enriches the stars with protons
Temporarily seals
Noctilucent clouds
        in a fertile interlude
Momentarily dreams the linear world
        in a vacuum

Envelopes the Equator in perfect vivacity

Its psychosis accelerating jet streams
        with abyssal rapture

Only then
The force severed
is redeemed

As if it were an omen

As if it were the Moon’s gravitational transcendence

As if it were the forecast of a dream.