Victory is doing good things you never thought you could do.

Sunbeams strike the carrefour here in this foreign land, and,

amid stone chambers, shapely vowels,

the ungeheurerlich complexities of Gaul,

arcs of joy cut inexplicably into my sternum.

How can this be?  Is it not unseemly to declench oneself?

Striding toward towers crowned by mute and lovely angels,

I heave up great irrevocable laughs

as I became somewhat less foreign to myself.


1 Comment

  1. Crazypulsar, via Twitter, states: “MUTE ANGEL? 失语症!!”

    In other words, “Aphasia!” This is probably one of the most creative criticisms I have ever seen, as aphasia can be defined as a language disorder where one engages in excess neologisms.

    So I searched a bit for the offending neologism (“mute angel”) and found that I was far from the first to coin the phrase; in fact, Sophie Jewett did so in long ago in her poems of the late 1880s.

    Of course, the critique could be self-directed; that is, a kind of ejaculation whereby one throws up one hands to state “I don’t get it!” But knowing the critic somewhat, somehow I think this one is for me.

    In general I think the world would be better off if neologisms (new and unusual word pairings/constructions, unstandardized language) were more common. If I could be perpetually afflicted with this aphasia, or imagine myself so in some cocoon of memory, and snap the cords of self-critique lashed over phalanges, I could create more, Crazypulsar!

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