Haute le Couer
The splendor and the burn.
Dogs at night. Barking at the unknown. The ticklish and fragile, belly up and burning blue.
Holy scares, holy reckonings, holy scars. The ravages of grace, its giddy violent perfumes.
Holly go holy. Go go go – Sweet infernal yoyo. Some – more – guess board of destiny, of death –
Sizzles upon Haute le Couer’s tongue like a dragon flirting, a flying snake made of colored snow, where a heart full of seams pulls itself apart, undresses before the sacred crow, and aches are piqued, and love flies low…
A flickering insurrection, that fondles Haute’s blanket and sail, with wondrous defeat. Horror is a bountiful delicacy ? hungry with uprising, blowing rubbly into the vaunt absurd, like a distempered kiss, danse macabre with an ambivalent abyss.
Haughty & the fraughty.
Haute’s childhood, got drunk on the dieties ? that ring round the generative, with fraught suspense, like thrushes, beautiful dizzying thrushes surrounding a secret lake, thrust between heaven and hell. Ebb and tangled with beauty and death, veils of trauma, veils of enchantment –
God as an insanity vanity ? flirting with martyrdom — Flying gloriously into the holy void.
Breathing fire into a life. Chancy with death, loopy and gruesome with vaunt appliance —
Haute’s got a wild wag on, stoked and clamoring, and wandering off – into shocking reticencies of splendor. A bedazzling titillation of charms grimoire – fulcrum of hope against hope, dashing with ecstasis.
Its simmering cross, overwhelms Haute’s wangling, like a light on a ferry in the fog, swinging back and forth, between Proteus and Procrustes —
How in the smallest of rings, panic endures. Waves of panic, scored with firethorns. Forcefied like a battersea shield – outraced to reflect, the spookiness of god.