Libido.jpg (10076 bytes)

"Libido Devil"
(Tennessee white stoneware)
                                               -LaDonna Smith


Operating table

by LaDonna Smith


You peeled my skin back like a banana in sultry prestorming; the juice of precipitation rises from below. The livid body of electrical flora finds the yellow galbanum spitting its bitterness into a warm glow.

Suddenly, I forgot the ropes that bind my head to the steel rails of incurvate cross-ties, lasciferous Niagara of mysterious acceleration. A motion picture is played in my abdomen, bending the oneiric hearing below the voice of a whale, below sound, slower than a brightly banded nocturnal snake, venomous in its darkness. There was a likeness to breathing inert gases within the electrical lamp.

One moment later, I was to jump off the stage as a star shot from the sky. The impact was a burning sensation and then a slide that was rising and continuing as a pear-shaped musical instrument that spoke words. A forepaw was raised to transfer the lightning which was targeted to a naked body inscribing its shadow in an empty room , and with a single and complete exactness outlined a chord on the surface layer; a combination of motion pictures flowing at low speed, the language was wooden and then overlapping, an astonishing mask and then the arctic circle, but blistering with igneous rock and being attached to rhetorical quotations; a luminous train with no intention of swapping the formative juice for the blank space that lies behind the terminal fin of a fish.

A lock of hair, stabilizing surfaces, the body of an animal lies with the rear part of an airplane, growing vines and the channels of the gulf stream. The bird's wing with feet, aloft the waving tree limb, holds on in the elasticity of the wind's tongue.

A dance step is needed.

A building falls.

Then compounded, ommultiplus silently charged, faintly blue voluminous roar, whose decibels were so bright that they were black, and fully consumed. The echo is heard forever. No two infinities are ever the same and no cause to assume that abrupt scream would scar the foot held firm to leaves and other green things, the quarrel is never the same.

The winged shoes flew over the belly and skied to a stop, but turning. Inside the belly was warm, and flaming, as umbrellas and fans are cut into strips for use as leaves. A side road appeared and armies marched over the hills. Love, phantasy, forming a lathe's work in the meal, turning before the lips of whispering cloud forms. Erotically and strong-scented, they blow down the valleys as vitreous metals flutter in terrestrial volley. Dissipating, small streams escape. They are carved into shapes and resonate like metal buckets.

Before the blood is allowed to return, the channels are exploded into red asexual spores which require attention. Worn over one shoulder, they multiply and become sense organs containing a sight line. The stem of a tobacco pipe assumes the arch of a foot extending into the dough which becomes bread.

The nova, when it is useful to be in bed, is a cylinder projecting from a pin, a colored fire floats in, inward from a spot of light and then finds a capacity, something very small, perhaps significant. The territory is burned and aroused; the melting is quickened by an odor lightly rising out of harmony.

Reflecting mirrors look at each other. There is a habitual power, transmitted inward; a mirrored image, a revolving lens, reverberation, water thrown on hot stones, entrance into a cave, hunting dogs finding juice on the trail, a ruddy, quickly recognizable road. A gaseous needlefish sexually beckons the ground. She dives below.

Intracellular tearful crystals, extended tentacles, glassy activity of punctuated discovery, of foam, the invaginate cargo, an area of circles with no indication of contours, secreting color and sound, a rod in a fire resembling a fish on land vibrates. The naked flesh affirms the weaving.

Planetesimal ceramics make vessels for dreams.


-LaDonna Smith


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