Lotto Thießen
L
For you, my friends now
close the door with a shot
and tomorrow will protect this
with a forgetting skin
in which we live fully dressed
as people w/ functioning
survival foam between
the break of bone
and the limit slime
that creases round rooms
and folds tunnels to being
small and flooded
winged and flapping
and now the door is shut
and you are in
cut in one direction
surprised how much
has to be cut to get a cut
cut you into view
in which a profile comes to light
with chinbone baby hands
that reach out and walk on up
a face is lancelot
a skin that looks like palace
with its marble-pillared clear lined nose
eyes sodalite-lake-like thinly veined
and where the mouth opens in the sky
dalmatian jasper birds with knives as beaks
cut through the air with aristocratic voices
from the height armor
heraldic pore formations
behind cut masks
all my friends are sick this week
suffer from a face that is a truckload of dicks
or a hand full of cards
with bricks that missile
talking pillows
a face is a pillow
a face asks “did you talk about anything interesting”
and is not a face anymore. Its skull is cracked open
to the cosmos since it was seven
it spills everywhere
its eyelashes spear into the night
to the rhythm of it
and fall into the dreams of others
a face is torture
a viscose layer of demons
w/ cardinals welcoming seasons
out of the lava
a face doesn’t know its age looking at others
it knows itself in the mirror through the look of others
through itself looking at others
make it crack
crack masks crack
a face drinks a poison green parrot
and its career escapes from the zoo
where it caused trouble for incestuous
parroting with only slight dislocation
from real life consequences of the concept
it carries in flared auricles that swallow
boiled heart eggs and oysters
a face is a face only for the parties
a face sits down
sits on a face
a face is on fire
skin falls like rubble off its hills
an entire land slides off a face
the face that’s sitting
is now sitting on the skin rubble
in the rubble faces swim
some are drowning
a face is extravagant sitting on itself
mostly scene related fingers know the indications
contraceptives and bloody marries
a face has its period everywhere
a face fencing off a face
a folding fence face a metal contraption
when you lock your fence
everything is in there
at least everything that is in it is
in there fenced off
a pretty functional garden
psychotic flowers around pools of poodles
with words biting their asses
the potentiality of face
a face gets what it wants from language
it is well described elsewhere
in terms of strength of character
a face is a territory of expression
it sits well on its bones
no muscular distortions due to adaptation to the cannon
or nervous makeup twitches
it cuts deep
has a deep cut
a strong profile
an oval shape that cuts through a trident
a perforated forehead with wiry hair
and an absurdly long tongue
it is the image of “a poet
standing on a mountaintop
yelling”
and another face wonders,
“when will he stop?”*
a face with a modernist narrative
the optic nerve points outward like a pipe
and the eyeball puffs kisses towards the brain
ferociously like an octopus
its tongue grows ferns in subcutaneous networks
and dies when singly extracted
as it walks chunks of meat splash heavy on the ground
and it bathes in the cuts
a red flesh orgy with extended teeth that frame it
while it sits in a room
the room has four walls
the walls face outwards
sometimes people come to visit
and leave again
and it takes off its face in the dark
gets a cut
all my friends are sick today
a face knows no innocence
a coat in the shape of a screaming orchid
pukes stones to walk on
and be emancipated
and call for a sisterhood of faces
to tear down fences
to take the rakes and the spades
to the gardens
to dig and to prune
to get to the bottom of it
dig out face after face
throw it on the pile of faces
below that face
dig out the mask
over the face
prune away nostrils and temples
cheekbones and chins
a flower mask
bathe in the fat compartments
a face knows no innocence
it sings in the shower and sinks
it cries around the lake
like an oily leopard
rippling towards no image
a face de
substance
I
ate
a face
with
a l l
the
a toms
bob bing
on the surface
a face aufrüstung
zum ent
zücken
to bite your finger
off
in the middle
of the line
____________________
* Philip Lamantia
Lotto Thießen grew up in Porto and is currently living in Berlin where she grows mental potatoes.
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For you, my friends now
close the door with a shot
and tomorrow will protect this
with a forgetting skin
in which we live fully dressed
as people w/ functioning
survival foam between
the break of bone
and the limit slime
that creases round rooms
and folds tunnels to being
small and flooded
winged and flapping
and now the door is shut
and you are in
cut in one direction
surprised how much
has to be cut to get a cut
cut you into view
in which a profile comes to light
with chinbone baby hands
that reach out and walk on up
a face is lancelot
a skin that looks like palace
with its marble-pillared clear lined nose
eyes sodalite-lake-like thinly veined
and where the mouth opens in the sky
dalmatian jasper birds with knives as beaks
cut through the air with aristocratic voices
from the height armor
heraldic pore formations
masks behind masks behind masks behind masks cut behind masks behind cut masks behind masks behind masks behind masks cut behind masks behind cut masks behind masks behind masks behind masks cut behind masks behind cut masks behind masks behind masks behind masks cut behind masks behind cut
all my friends are sick this week
suffer from a face that is a truckload of dicks
or a hand full of cards
with bricks that missile
talking pillows
a face is a pillow
a face asks “did you talk about anything interesting”
and is not a face anymore. Its skull is cracked open
to the cosmos since it was seven
it spills everywhere
its eyelashes spear into the night
to the rhythm of it
and fall into the dreams of others
a face is torture
a viscose layer of demons
w/ cardinals welcoming seasons
out of the lava
a face doesn’t know its age looking at others
it knows itself in the mirror through the look of others
through itself looking at others
make it crack
crack behind crack behind crack behind masks crack behind behind crack masks crack behind crack behind crack behind masks crack behind behind crack masks crack behind crack behind crack behind masks crack behind behind crack masks crack behind crack behind crack behind masks crack behind behind crack masks
a face drinks a poison green parrot
and its career escapes from the zoo
where it caused trouble for incestuous
parroting with only slight dislocation
from real life consequences of the concept
it carries in flared auricles that swallow
boiled heart eggs and oysters
a face is a face only for the parties
a face sits down
sits on a face
a face is on fire
skin falls like rubble off its hills
an entire land slides off a face
the face that’s sitting
is now sitting on the skin rubble
in the rubble faces swim
some are drowning
a face is extravagant sitting on itself
mostly scene related fingers know the indications
contraceptives and bloody marries
a face has its period everywhere
a face has started a fence a face fence out of faces a face has started a fence a face fence out of faces a face has started a fence a face fence out of faces
a folding fence face a metal contraption
when you lock your fence
everything is in there
at least everything that is in it is
in there fenced off
a pretty functional garden
psychotic flowers around pools of poodles
with words biting their asses
the potentiality of face
shakes faces fences fence shakes a face shakes faces fences fence shakes a face
elevated to shakes
a face gets what it wants from language
it is well described elsewhere
in terms of strength of character
a face is a territory of expression
it sits well on its bones
no muscular distortions due to adaptation to the cannon
or nervous makeup twitches
it cuts deep
has a deep cut
a strong profile
an oval shape that cuts through a trident
a perforated forehead with wiry hair
and an absurdly long tongue
it is the image of “a poet
standing on a mountaintop
yelling”
and another face wonders,
“when will he stop?”
a face with a modernist narrative
the optic nerve points outward like a pipe
and the eyeball puffs kisses towards the brain
ferociously like an octopus
its tongue grows ferns in subcutaneous networks
and dies when singly extracted
as it walks chunks of meat splash heavy on the ground
and it bathes in the cuts
a red flesh orgy with extended teeth that frame it
while it sits in a room
the room has four walls
the walls face outwards
sometimes people come to visit
and leave again
and it takes off its face in the dark
gets a cut
cuts through
cuts through gets a cut
gets a cutcuts through
cuts through gets a cut
a face knows no innocence
a coat in the shape of a screaming orchid
pukes stones to walk on
and be emancipated
and call for a sisterhood of faces
to tear down fences
to take the rakes and the spades
to the gardens
to dig and to prune
to get to the bottom of it
dig out face after face
throw it on the pile of faces
below that face
dig out the mask
over the face
prune away nostrils and temples
cheekbones and chins
a flower mask
bathe in the fat compartments
a face knows no innocence
it sings in the shower and sinks
it cries around the lake
like an oily leopard
rippling towards no image
a face de
substance
I
ate
a face
with
a l l
the
a toms
bob bing
on the surface
a face aufrüstung
zum ent
zücken
to bite your finger
off
in the middle
of the line
____________________
* Philip Lamantia
Lotto Thießen grew up in Porto and is currently living in Berlin where she grows mental potatoes.
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