The dog has no head, BigDogTM, rough terrain, sinking jelly, do you know why you were murdered while sleepwalking? The lawn looks epic. Hearing. Hearing and seeing. I worked construction (only woman in the town’s history) and duly we took your trash to the dump in a one ton dump truck daily and duly that trash did get trashed, eyeballs that don’t blink, procreate and create more headlines, the battle is less likely to be symbolized by lace but lace might be a staunch symbol of stability. A bomb was outside then inside but formerly inside and deep. Where in thought are you going? Flora of storm. They had sex with it, writ large from a vantage point, welded steel frames, in the likelihood of wire, very white, congealed around vital organs, ripped out veins “in the” / “of the” so brilliant daybreak. I will leave a space for the first passage blank. But, the NOW WASH YOUR HANDS sign combusts edgily, the line drawn under your job description leaps out and lassoes storm-clouds; this is more than I had bargained for you say into the nearest vacant speech-bubble, leaving your mouth behind in abstraction per se, a fire-drill inside it. What chunks of material life are shaken out. Why were they there in the first place, obscured by the refusal of transparency; I am nobody to say this, or does it. Does it not instead become stationed beneath a new screen, kept on standby like the world it cagily proposes. The light is we. The prism is the space known for its romantic associations where things grow around and into each other. However, hyper-tiered indies jostle for globs of managerial diffusion to wield over perma-temps, “funnels acute to one quadrant”, is neon the new black? In “Hot Steeper”, these bright fluorescent purple shoes crush a bright green cactus man. Dumbo Acapulco Jive Arrowroot Samsung Kachina Pork Quonset Xanax Mitzvah Patchouli Iditarod. So much ‘dimension’ in a street. It was total. Was it felt? Whispering Light Hears Liquids Talk. Our speech will occasionally be struck by a flying neutrino and the social glue will turn into shards – “chewtoy colliding somewhere with dust” – we call these “metastases”, in Wilkinson’s sense, the sites of pain [“habitus?” asks R. Toscano] – “sucktank / abducted weapon / at the stucco” – sponge monkey spice blobs blood.
[Note: Sources: Brenda Iijima, Going Blooming Falling Blooming (a bit from each page but the first, all mashed up); JBR, but see previous; Keston Sutherland, “ELEVEN EDIT”, at Quid 11; Juliana Spahr, “We”, at A Fiery Flying Roule 10; Andrea Brady, and Laura Elrick, “Tow”, as quoted in Brady’s “FORMALLY CONVICTED: A REVIEW OF LAURA ELRICK”, at Quid 11; Daniel Larkin, “Is Neon the New Black?”, at Hyperallergic, 7 Jun 013; John Crouse, “Sonnet”, at experiential-experimental-literature, 7 Jun 013; Laura Elrick, as quoted in Taylor Brady, “ACOUSTICS AND POLITICAL ECONOMY — LAURA ELRICK’S ‘DIMENSIONS OF CALM’”, at Quid 11; “Whispering Light Hears Liquids Talk”, at Science Daily, 7 Jun 013; Brian Kim Stefans, and Carol Mirakove, as quoted in Stefans’ “SUZANNE DATHE, GRENOBLE, FRANCE — CAN WE WIN?: ON CAROL MIRAKOVE’S POETRY”, at Quid 11; Carol Mirakove, “[24 words for feb 19]”, at Quid 11]