Divined
Impossible are you
who welcome the red
of your east
You pronounce you pain in piles of
red
What if you should
divine in late autumn, in late autumn,
purple but little?
You face you
Crowns must transform into tops
Is it any wonder that there
is no stagger purple than sustenance?
The crown dies in
autumn–the prideful crown
Jaggedly, auburn wind sways, like
a crown
A sort of hole
A sort of time
A sort of coast
You dig
Because red is jolly,
you have red
in your progress
Nullifies and validates
Avoids and formalises
Evades and avoids
Evades and faces
Let
us leave
those strange agglutinations
of
inaudibly consonant
examples [is of
itself
is. as
we are / coming.
going]
to work
by themselves alone;
the
supreme question
of the beech-
tree
and the
glou-glou, The
Winter
of Shrieking
Electric Guitars, in
tiny
sans-serif,
irregularly woven into
the
white space
[“White space blank space OM AH HUM”]
“Behind
the wheel”
“a driver merges”
“with
the drive”
“transparency” (next page-
spread)
“Homecoming, home”
“sitting, and seat”
“converge
in the
pull” “of a
thousand”
“tacit purposes”
(next page-spread)
“that
shoot” “and
lodge” “untouched.” … WHO …
that
isn’t blood
on the front
of
my nightgown
it’s juice from
the
pomegranate I
was eating during
Nightmare
on Elm
Street, Part 3.
The
drives … in
of shift under
light.
West of
Tordesillas, metaphor has
no
value of
its own. A
luxuriant
monarch butterfly
bobbled across the
path.
A hidden
waterway gurgled underneath
the
underbrush. Black
water with dust
&
leaves on
it flowed out
of
the subcutaneous
earth. Some lizard
in
a hurry
or fat rat
or
grinning opossum
or venomous slithering
copperhead
scurried through
crackling dry leaves
nearby.
Oh Maria
this wingéd world.
My
footsteps were
a little hesitant,
something
that seemed
particularly stupid to
me –
did I
need to start
walking
like an
old man all
of
a sudden? –
but it occurred
to
me that
these sensations, weakness,
inability
to perceive depth
perception, itching of
flaky
dandruff, inability
to burp on
command,
unfulfilled wish
fulfillment quotas, whimsical
death
wish, all
of these sensations
were
perhaps preludes
to my falling
into
a trance
state, another vision,
either
world-shaking
& prophetic or
merely
cheap in
an off-hand
way.
Signed for
Elena, from Lyn,
With
much love.
From the other
side
of the
room he sees
the
light catch
on the blade
of
the knife /
Drop that feather,
he
yells, “The printed sentence is like a city map: the bushes, trees, objects, and myself have disappeared.”
Oh
Adam oh
Eve [warm stitched-
together
soft torn
toys. Stuffed and laced
voluptuous
imaginary mammals
made of lovely
lumps.
Dear plump-
cheeked playthings taken
to
bed and
hugged in the
dark]
“Just relax
for me now.”
Expanded
metal. Vacuum.
Nylon, copper, rubber
and
plastic tubes.
Mica. Hot plates.
Fibre
Optics. Carbon
dioxide. Liquid nitrogen.
Dewar.
Silicones. Polyethylene
oxide. Stroboscope. Graphite.
Plastics.
Hot air
blower. Sound. [whether
it
is slow
as in before
sleep]
Grass / moving
slowly / the sculpture
watches /
The / green,
black, dusty present
pain /
two plus
two is four,
two
plus two
is five. Either
I
am so
elevated or transparent
as
your and /
or I am
so
elevated or
dude, I fucked
up
my knee.
AND YET FOR
THIS
EVENT, BOUNDED
BY A SOLID
SMILE,
we shall
have left tickets
in
your pseudonym
at the window.
[Note: Sources: JBR, poem in Principal Hand (??) aka Issue 1, Fall 2008 (eds. Stephen McLaughlin and Jim Carpenter, pub. by for godot.com), pp.2556-7; Jacques Derrida, Glas (trs. John P Leavey, Jr and Richard Rand); Omo Bob, The Winter of Shrieking Electric Guitars; Scott Glassman, “The Poem”, at ars poetica, 17 Dec 08; Kyle Schlesinger, describing and quoting from Emily McVarish, ‘S, in “Gutter Crossing: On Emily McVarish”, in On: Contemporary Practice (eds. Michael Cross, Thom Donovan & Kyle Schlesinger); a line suddenly/associatively recalled from what must be a 30 year old JBR poem; Dodie Bellamy, The Letters of Mina Harker; Richard Caddel, For the Fallen; Cildo Meireles, as quoted in Suely Ronick, “A Shift towards the unnameable”, in Cildo Meireles (ed. Guy Brett); Sesshu Foster, Atomik Aztex; Lyn Hejinian, A Border Comedy (my copy is indeed signed as noted); Christian Dotremont, as quoted in Eileen Tabios, “NOTA BENE EISWEIN”, at The Blind Chatelaine’s Keys, 17 Dec 08; Judy Kronenfeld, “Middle-Aged Memory”, “This Is Not a Religious Poem”, in Disappeared Down Dark Wells and Still Falling; Harryette Mullen, Trimmings, in Recyclopedia; Gustav Metzger, Extremes Touch, 1968, Swansea, exhibition text, in Gustav Metzger: History History (ed. Sabine Breitwieser); Ivy Alvarez, “whether it is slow as in before sleep”, at Ivy is Here, 17 Dec 08; Ernesto Priego, The Body Aches [Poems and Hay(na)kus]; Jerome Rothenberg, “13 A Double Schism” in A Book of Concealments; Martin Stannard, “My Muse”, “And, With an Air of Finality”, in Coral; Marjorie Welish, “Art & Language Writes an Epitaph”, “From Dedicated To”, in Isle of the Signatories]
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