Irreparable Intimacies

By T. Dove Lourde

Irreparable Intimacies. An extremely personal collection of abstract, lyrical prose told from the viewpoint of different characters, all existing within the artist. Written over the span of ten years and compiled in one book years later, the motifs range from the whimsical and fantastical to the frightening to the funny to the oddly profound, with topics of love, beauty, truth and nature mingling with the sinister, the socially and politically conscious, the religious, all fused in an attempt to piece together a fractured psyche and give a voice to the myriad strangers that reside in one solitary mind and familiar body. Some intimacies cant go unseen. Some doors, once opened, cant be closed. Dont forget what you know. Expand on it. Discovery of the self is an adventure into the unknown.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 26, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462843664

T. Dove Lourde

Poet/artist T. Dove Lourde, a native Texan now living elsewhere, has published three books of poetry prior to number 4: We Rent These Bodies. Also underway, a novel, Lourde’s first, entitled Nowhere to Run From, and a collaborative writing project with the poet Nola, a poetry travelogue of sorts, as of yet untitled. Lourde dabbles in other art forms as well including painting and music and draws inspiration from classic literature, art and music, politics and history, the sciences, nature, and philosophy.

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Copyright © 2009 by T. Dove Lourde.

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Contents

Amalgams of Thought

Esohysterics

Banner Season

Prosthetic Applicant

Leather Prick in a Jacket

Pirouette Pangs

Nouveau

Caligular Dichotomy of Autumn

Footing

VISION Clarity

Feudal   futility

Fill in the Blank Physique

Casus Belli

(Come in and Enjoy) the Roman Bath Theory

A        LEADPERSON’S     HOLE

Cassandra Sounds

Butchering the Distant Meats Ψ

Red A’s

Black Guardisms

Spell Bind Mice

O. Annoying A.    Obsessions    A. Anonymous

Invitee (Aisle 13)

²ONE

Foyer of the Voyeur

Aye for an Aye

Water Falls

Stone Tree

SPECT / ACLES

Romantic Antics

Talent

Pent-up Hostile Revival

C H A R M I N G L Y D E V O U R E D

The Freedoma Bounds

RaymondEdwardZodeyersERECTION

W E e s s

Candle Opera

Guillotine(the benediction and procession)

VLADKARMA AND THE BOOMERANGTOANOTHER LIFE

The Spell of Legs and Limbs

God and Its Date (table for two*)

The cleansing door

Flies of the New Increase

Psychogenic Realities

The overture of undertone

Scratch Untold

Directionless stare…………........................................

All the prospective gods

Cliff Behavior

Lovesick Degenerate at the Fiends’ Ball

The cannibal in me

Treading thread

Neanderthalian Hall

Us, Under

The f irst memorable propulsion

Virgin Veteran

TRADED HOUR

Thea: whore who bore Rhea Alice

Crushing men, groaning

Achilles’ Run

Tryst

fables, parables, gorgeous soliloquy, and the like

Natural Selections

Socio-syndrome

City Pool

Wolves can be grateful

Quell of the Injury

Lai’a Anya of Nyte

Entreats to Beauty

For god’s ache

Illusional

Until the Robe

Lady with a serpent tongue

Comparing flight tones:

Wish of the velveteen

The Un-Entitled

Amalgams of Thought

 

Anthem of a scene~

We are just shortlived creatures.

A guest to the muses laid before us.

As night fades in we hear their call.

As well, we go with it, to gut it from

memory.

But we are the monster’s creation.

Made of flesh and scales,

of fluid and fat.

To this mangled construction,

the third³eye is the prize of the century,

riddled with dust.

A riddle wholly us.

We are the men who see a lot.

We are the women who still breathe.

A gift, in winter, we still see. This luxuriant confirmation now waiting to return to us.

A free breath?

An inhalation! A proclamation!

To design is to see an end.

Only these dreams fell the future. Like a log,

we are

a distant day to fade into the life shadow.

With inspiration in eyes, to guide us to uncertainty’s whim. Precarious practices?

Pennies for a free man

Quarters for the dimes

You might find

A possibility

Esohysterics

Sleeping myself into the silt of some forgotten oasis.

Riverbanks skipping stones across my salivating soul, conjuring an adjective for every fascinated item at war in my bones. Not WAR. UNWAGED.

A peace fighter on crusade to his grave.

My name leaves its mark in the beach.

      It tells me, at once, a wakeful creep,

      slithering through time and space, now shedding the meat;

flesh, heat the four corners.

Our foundling fathers neglected to tell us these tidbits

about having heatfits.

The teachers never taught us these crucial nutrients blowing in the breeze,

as the seas return to the river.

I sleep and dream.

A child of esteem, unadulterated.

Clock stop. I take no notice.

Skip one

Skip two, three, four

I adore the doors opened along the banks of this shore.

May