Poetry eZine ~ April 2012

Friday, April 20

Joseph A. Uphoff: The Lands of the Doll

Opacity ruled the distance between the
frequency of creative production and some
other recipient, a station regulated by the
spectator sport of charismatic power. Perhaps,

it was a bluff that emotions could be arranged
and, otherwise, deranged by the effort

suggesting an indifferent comparison between
deserving individuals and the lyrical diatribes
within which lament was a subtle
grammar for which sorrow remained a
stain upon the syllables and inflections

of the dramatic sword. Outside, the

yard beckoned with fence posts and
sandy boulders. It could not be recognized
that color was tinged by means of enigmatic
spelling and tensely held beliefs requiring
the eccentricity that was the mark of
a spurious fabrication. The paintings

fell into place, winning a stretch of the
wall in full view of adversity,
criticism, and appreciative spectators.

Since it was always all about the fact
of repetitive effort, it remained likely that
a new election would not lead to a fresh
result. The renewal was to be searched
out by reference to other criteria, of which

there was a bounteous plentitude. Fabric
Had woven a whole district to float above
the floor like a dear memory, not without
its departure into virtual form and
expressions cast forth as if a sport

were being playing with a ball, yet the

number were unreliable. the score had
been derived as a fantasy so, without
meaning, it was hovering like the price
being scorched as inflation levered against

the ceiling. The tradition was a rigid
heritage reflected from some predicament
poorly comprehended by indigent and
disinterested people. The dreaming came

before the composition, and after, there was
understanding for the color and the incident
forever documented by scratches forced

into the great expanse of a flat, rock
face. The became the residence
of many ghosts from ancient time, studied
by anonymous spirits at the university,
a vision of future probability. The

sky presided over them with heat and
rain. Nothing was expected to erode
in such a short season as eternal
remembrance., but there was silence about
erosion. Quietude encroached upon
the rooms of the traveler. With a clank
from the chains of this burden echoing
out of the canyon, the wisdom left; it was
picked up and carried away in the
depth of cameras and carved from the
cliff's face by the face of anthropology,
not forgetting responsibility
to the environment of relics.

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