Experiment five–Word-Tossed Salad

By Michael Dickel on Wednesday, 5 June, 2013 • ( 9 Comments )

This is the fifth experiment in this series. Each experiment includes words suggested by others, which I string together in some hybrid of Dada found object (the suggested words and the links I find later by Googling words and phrases) and surrealist automatic writing, with a definite nod to language poetry. Words. Sounds. Rhythms. Fragments of meaning. Contributors left their words in comments on here, Facebook, Google+, and LinkedIn. Contributors for this experiment: Joanna Chen, Stanley H. Barkan, Steven Wadey, Bogpan, Anna Patterson , Nicholas Whittaker, Louis Profeta, gabriella garofalo, Jason Topp and Lisa Holden.

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If you wish to have your words included in a future experiment, leave a list of five random words in a comment below. Thank you.

Word-Tossed Salad

The woman with a beard strolls to the station through sunshine cutting like a blade. A duck swims in the pond to resonate resoundingly with restructured memories of chickens. A Brobdingnagian sense of largeness, largess from the Cajun Country music, Zydeco rides a coat of paint, counts rhythmically sensational sensual expansion on her timpani membrane.

A dingleberry drops on the earwig, unerringly resting in shade of the toad’s garden beneath a diachrony in space, the way her smooth-faced lover two-timed her tune, thyme in the chicken, parsley in the salad, sage advice, rosemary babying bye and bye. The real bird next to a cement-statue bird counts to five, standing still to still stand after the hunter.

Wharves sing to the waves, sea goings-on and off the sand, as autumn cascades corpulently toward the Bogpan peninsula. It all lowers and raises the living, shimmering question, what if? in her shimmed mind, off-balance scales, that way nothing.

…un-solid world twisting in solid up-born whirligig wind… ©2013 Michael Dickel

To understand hope, to deny hurt, to sing. Elaboration is a form of pollution, her mind skips to my Lou. Walk walk green green skip my jolly flowering grasses. Cobalt blue sky calms clammy fear of the afternoon moon but nowhere recalls verbatim, an exceptional, lowly ingrate of an orang-utan twisting, elastic. Word salad tossed to the wind, un-solid world twisting in solid up-born whirligig wind, elephantine ego elastically sutured to the.