Here is a small neck collection: I went in but didn’t go under water. I am up to my neck in crocodiles. He / she really stuck their neck out for you. Neckface. I’m not going to break my neck to do this. Off with your head. Turtles are shy. Neck and neck. What’s in a neck? A throat. What happens when there is a disconnect between your head and the rest of your body? What does it mean to be neckless? You lose the vagus nerve. There are plenty of places where turtles are not “shy” when they have their heads on straight. Yeezus is still fresh. A lot of people are listening to it and talking about it, including Roxane Gay. Here is what she says: “There’s this bridge where Kanye raps, ‘You see it’s leaders and it’s followers / But I’d rather be a dick than a swallower.’ I am really fixated on these lyrics. Must be nice to have a choice between one and the other. But I particularly do not care for the denigration of swallowing, which is a fine and mighty thing. And if this is what Yeezus believes, he doesn’t think much of anyone who might swallow, so that’s probably awkward for his romantic relationships. I’m over thinking these lyrics, but one thing I know for sure — respect the swallower, you asshole, or the throat will close up.” Each time I pass the garage of a certain yellow house, I am greeted with barking. The first time this occurred, an instinctive fear seemed to run through me. I have never been attacked. Yet I firmly believed that if I opened the door I should confront a dog. Arendt says, I had read the fairy tale about Dwarf Nose, whose nose gets so long nobody recognizes him anymore. My mother pretended that had happened to me. I still vividly recall the blind terror with which I kept crying, but I am your child, I am your Hannah – that is what it was like today between me and my 2 pound lump of electrical problems. Flageolets of fire he says there will be for my sadly misfiring pump. It’s all automatic, spooking the flowers. Are you asleep? The sleeper has two left sides. It wants no straps. Its dreams are light glowing up from under flowing water. We’ll finish the story later with the words at hand. Keep a top eye out for visions. Considering the worldwide trend towards mass deportation, how long will it be, do you think, before the nations of the world turn the plastic trash swirl in the Pacific into the new Devil’s Island? Do you hope for, look toward, seek out beauty in other aspects of your life? I was contemplating this question the other day as I was walking in the Art Gallery of Ontario, my nine-month old son sleeping on my chest in a cloth carrier. I do not always experience beauty in art museums, but on this day, I did: first, in the moody, dark-cased photographs of the Czech photographer Josef Sudek; and then in the studied part-singing of the American chamber choir Lionheart, which was performing in an adjoining room. Drawn from the photo exhibition by those harmonizing voices, I followed them, and stood for a long time in the cloisters of the atrium, listening. The music was from a hymnbook 700 years old; 200 years ago, that book was disassembled, its leaves scattered among collectors. What we, in that art-museum audience, were witnessing was a secular resurrection: Donne’s library in which ‘all our scattered leaves’ are bound up again, Dionysus put back together after his dismemberment, Wolverine reassembled from the score of his backbone … this sequence of hymns reassembled, transcribed, and brought to voice, for the first time in 200 years.
[Note: Sources: Michele Christle, “neck collection”, at Michele Christle, 19 Jun 013; Ron Silliman, “FROM The Chinese Notebook”, in Postmodern American Poetry: A Norton Anthology Second Edition (ed. Paul Hoover); JBR, but see next; Maxine Chernoff, “Scenes from Ordinary Life”, in Hoover; JBR, with a bit cut in and mangled from Ed Dorn, Gunslinger, Book 1; Larry Fagin, “No Real Than You Are”, at The The, 16 Jun 011; JBR, FB post, 23 Jun 013; Sue Sinclair, and Amanda Jernigan, as quoted in Sinclair’s “Amanda Jernigan on Beauty”, at Lemon Hound, 22 Jun 013]