Fille de Mercure was the silver brain of the clock tower
at Gare de Lyon station for many ticks of the secondary tocks of life.
Who remembers who it was, liquefied her obdurate, primal celebrity in the vast, molecular fields of a unstable audience possessed of minimal attention,
and even less comprehension?
Any takers? Didn’t think so.
Doesn't matter, watch her now, she slips like silk
and sex from those erogenous arms of steel
that have been penetrating her cortex and spine with cold metal for decades
little gears inside her ears picking up the glossy and deadly lullaby of Emanuela’s intonations
as the Hillbilly Moon Explosion detonated
the cerebral ingestion of the avid crowds
with their “Love ForeverMore”
quickening Fille de Mercure’s metamorphosis.
She is yet to cultivate joy or anger as she is more preoccupied with relearning to breathe, with turning silver lungs to flesh and gold.
The whirring gears of her golden eyes are the most telling
they track the cracks in the spiritual clots of pain and rushing
humanity had become during her darkly enchanted slumber.
Her brain whirrs and clicks, gears made of stars and microfibers she chameleons down the façade of the clock tower
pulling her vestigial cords from the cold womb of time. And it hurts, a lot.
Her scream knocks the train pulling in for busy suits
sideways into busy suits.
The tracks rotate and dislodge deadly little dark snakes striking upward through the glass of the station body,
and the moment is caught in a freeze frame
as Fille de Mercure, screams out
spreads pink, dainty toes at the base of the tick tock
eleven o’ clock, tower
turns busy eyes, full of programs on the inside drama
caught in a tableau, painting the air with ice rimmed globules of blood.
Inside the frozen building,
glass tangos, tangle with body wine pumping
from arteries in a mosaic of Rorschach dying.
None of this amuses or saddens the girl
her indifferent footprints leave beads of mercury and pearl dust in her wake
as she flares ivory nostrils
inhaling theoretical physics come to bow gravity on knees to ground.
It has the perfume of violets and holy murder.
That makes her smile.
Makes her catch and imprint the mosaic bud,
cameras in the cones of her iris, greedy
for information stimulation, she eats it up;
the Girl exhales.
The chaos begins.
And ends by midnight.
No one asks, during the concrete and flesh disorder
no one asks after the ambiguous morning, with no foreigners to blame
no crazy locals to pin to media’s canvas
asks, from where the fountain
with the angel
from a cord winding from her broken, open pelvis
into the bowl of Gare de Lyon
No one really wanted to know.
So, the human animal, once again
did the old head in sand routine
while Fille de Mercure’s eyes recorded and decoded
back to . . . .
no, we won’t go there, easier to wear the blindfold, non?
no one noticed the mercurial Nook
tucked under one wing of the angel
blinking its mercury
in bits of lines
the 7th Seal
as Trippy Cottontail led a trail of pseudo submissives
from the tangle of wires and organic debris
to groove away another day on planet earth
as Emanuela winked from a stage of pyrite and cherry blossoms
love forevermore in a loop
in gem filaments and curvy smoke
enticing even Fille de Mercure to give whimsical sideeye
to the dance
to sway with Trippy Cottontail
before puncturing the globule of the world
Take a bow, dear, decadent humanity,
the applause will be deafening . . . .
Kudos to Oliver Baroni of the awesome Band THE HILLBILLY MOON EXPLOSION who got my whirly crazy gears going toward this trippy piece by explaining the origins of a post on their facebook page~ this is how theis mind of mine works ~ ;)~
Enjoy their video below!!! It is farkin awesome!!!
~Each day is a new poem playing its ink through the fingerprints left in a trail of blue dreams from UnderLand to eager keys waiting in an almost sensual panic to be pressed full of another story, another poem, le poesie de jour~ Selene