Send me
to Femenye
unarmed and
without fleece-
Raise the flag,
white,
surrender-
to the
strangers of love.
Blow me
to Bermuda
on triangles
hashed upon charts,
captured, then framed in
cerulean blue-
lost-
in the acquisition of
morphology --
Now are the willing
to attain atomic
less for more
de rerum natura,
lucretian waves,
transmissions broadcasting
coordinates for
the boundaries-
set on by epicurean delight,
recorded on papyrus:
limited
only by the texture
of strawberries
that last hedged and coated
the rules of your stately kiss.
Send me
to Femenye
unarmed and
without fleece-
Raise the flag,
white,
surrender-
to the
strangers of love.
By Ron Edward Masikip Ingalla
Ron's style has been described mostly as imagistic, yet sonorous, as
"subconscious explorations of the obscure," with a a seeming
re-presentation, of the Ineffable, of the supposed reified word.
Hailing from the street and beat of Berkeley, California, this heady,
pseudo-esoteric, new approach to literary style, a modern-archaic,
attempts at freeing up the preconceptions of the word, with a
retroactive, yet futuristic vision, of the unsaid mechanics of
literary cultures.