Issue 6: Dialectic vs Antinomy
A Publication of the USF MFA in Writing Program

four humours

Diana Spieker

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
{sanguine}  
 
                               when supple the fritter                    and succulent flux  
                                                of canto like roosters                      all brimming   
with full throated holler                                           the sun      hail the sun       wow the  days  
                are so goddish                the hours               enchanted          the ruffles are hoisted  
                yes certain revival                        of bee     teeming pollen  
for sure                 in the snow melt            for reals               this is spring      check the   
                envoys of art                    that leap from your face           to the sea of loud birth  
hallelujah           new textures                                    that pirate the senses —  
                                               are you enjoyfulled?                     it springs  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
{choleric}  
  
black - tantrum color of jungle seethe - immaculate   
swerve of instinct - mechanical praxis of maul - creature  
possessed by slaughter fury- in a fit of serrated fire -    
beast lunge - throbbing with summer current and burn -    
blistering hot do not touch - surges frenetic singes with gall   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
{melancholic}  
 
autumn is a bawling slut… scab tattered razors pull me from… spell of sleep into deafening insomnia… rain fills with black bile before it slicks the wind  
to mud my joints… pitched cells know the coiled aftermath of opium…   
but never tasted the numb…what useless facts seep into my lungs to tilt   
and choke attention…I've memorized where I'm not but should be…  ever the shrieking revelators claw the surface with dry quills.   
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
{phlegmatic}  
 
frozen water season  
mill road pond  
chock still  
echo is dead  
long live the grave  
winter without end  
ripple maker dozing  
even my meditated panting   
makes no difference  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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