Ishion Hutchinson

Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun

Noon ictus cooling the veranda’s fretwork the child sits after his harp boning burlesque in the bower, his slit of gulls nerves silenced into hydrangea. Violet and roan, the bridal sun is opening and closing a window, filling a clay pot of coins with coins; candle jars, a crystal globe, cut milk boxes with horn petals snapping their iceberg-Golgotha crackle. The loneliness is terrible, the ice is near, says the hasp-lipped devil, casting beatitudes at the castor-oiled pimps in Parliament, Pray for them, joyfully, their amazing death! Light seethes bulging like pipes blown with napalm from his big golden eyes turning the afternoon ten degrees backwards, then through palm fronds’ teething the bridled air, sprigs of goat hair fall.

Nov 11, 2014 / Books & the Arts / Ishion Hutchinson