SurVision Magazine
An international online magazine
that publishes Surrealist poetry in English.
Issue Fourteen
BOBBY PARROTT
How Weather is Time in Some Romantic Languages
Sun-drunk and helium-hearted is how I like to start my day. But then,
as you dismantle me, I mantra the miniscule jellyfish wordings
circling your head, my rubberiest coils of love your reckless corkscrew
hair. Radio-freaky and photo-sensitive as a clock, we drift in and out
of this synchrony, your moon-labyrinth lips mouthing my planetary
frame. Tidal words too cold to fold wonder. Too globular. Like a
bubble filling less than the puncture a gazebo makes into a puzzle's
missing clouds. Like all the houses in the frame with the same
painting on their living room walls. Or when the fractal jet pack of
your private urge balloons a muscular paisley, electron-galactic
complex, thermonuclear benign.
Erasure and Immortality Are the Same Thing
My memories and those of my cloud version deviate considerably as
our distinct experiences diverge. The simulacra of my parental
upbringing smiles all the way to erratic. A disturbing frequency. I
mean, in case it hasn't become obvious, I have an agenda with you.
And altered by the cadenced embrace of fractal contact, the airport in
my chest pauses its pulse into potential activity. Like how you're
always stirred back into objectivity by clown-school's prerequisite
hemispherectomy. You soften, recognize again the tailspins of logical,
remember how we erase erasures back to antimatter, consider
noticing the simple violence of falling in love. A foreground of
buttercups flickering in the rain. This tiny booster-jet engine in my
head on idle but considering a new jacket, hallucinating ourselves
unstructured into still another poem about me.
Bobby Parrott is from Colorado. His poems appear in Tilted House, RHINO, Phantom Kangaroo, Atticus Review, The Hopper, Rabid Oak, Collidescope, Neologism, etc.
