print previewback ELENA KARINA BYRNE
Francis Bacon Swallows the Head Whole,
—Lynne
face into tongue, to car cry, eyes failing down this motion-going rain's
befuddling her still-life body, its burial ground against current wash, its
ask-open-orifice slipping forwater face without shape, a long slide into
mud of one color, now no sex for car’s final violence, silenced acre of
oxygen forced from the torqued trees falling with her & torn sheet metal.
All head’s the head ajar, twisted, crowning at ravine bottom, now an unruly
dictator of time lost in this upended night scour turn of events, religious as
Hopkins’ groans grinds language in her last thoughts, now, passed on as our
thoughts, swallowed head-whole with a pillow boiling
over in its memory,
quick-sliding slur-back into the body’s collapsing gabion cage where rain is
paint purifying in a sudden tantrum, remaking appearance in death’s tantric
pace with her naked swimming limbs’ spiritless bulk, a catch for leaves, this
new impasse, her soft brain now a coughed up owl pellet of fur, her one week lost
face raised from water's pursed grey lips & voice’s hebenon long downriver . . . 
Francis Bacon Swallows the Head Whole,
Tony Oursler and His Dummy Watchers Live On