Poetry by Peter Schwartz
short version:
Music & Art by Author
full-length version
Pedigree (c) 2006 Peter Schwartz

pedigree
the truth moves like a barracuda
cross-eyed, nettled, terminable
dead.
thus we resurrect fragments
of the fertile, hoping
in fetid bounds, opal-wide, wrapped
in caliber, towards the nightly canals
clay shrouds alike
with yes, some
decency.

inside the bystander's counterfeit
double, we guess upon the crystalline
in a clock-like display of
frostbite.
thus the cancer of how, again
deviates.

for this beheld cargo star
of some faintly oceanic, dire and
convulsive rehearsal,
this flicker of belonging, beneath the
catacombs.
has no bouquet, none
any.

details.
death moving in those drones
of barracuda, a sliver of
departure.
in the caricature
emergencies we summon
to evade more blatant gambits
for the chair.
(no chair)

deboned, flabbergasted, deadlocked,
still.