Autopoiesis LXXII (Recursive Plus, No. 3)

A woodpecker is knocking

In the leaves overhead and above that hollow backbeat

Everything is singing and churning wildly

Like the light high up

That bumps against the vaults

Of the never-to-be-completed cathedral

Suddenly

An eyelid starts to twitch

Like a rabbit inside a magician’s hat

Je says this must be where p and ~p

This must be the excluded middle

Je waits for a friend in the dark by the pigeonshit statue

Life revolves around it

But no one needs it any more

We take for granted that meaning

Is just like Coyote

Leaning against a wall

Watching clouds go by

Et cetera

Is just like a stutter and 10 disconnected thumbs

Is just like our native oaks

Which have an erotic need for an occasional fire to assist their reproduction

Dogen said something that would go right here

In the merriest way

As if it were champagne

I don’t believe the sky is blue

I’ve been to Heaven and it’s just crazy like

The

        Wild

                Verbs

        Of your

Nipples

Everything is so fast and possible

Like a worm squirming across the sidewalk

After the rain evaporates

Remember

When you wake

The shape of a wind-carved rock in a sandy landscape

Its features looking like a face

Wrinkled

Without wisdom

We are all precaristas made homeless by the bombing

Suddenly

An eyelid starts to twitch

Then the biceps

Or the triceps

Start to pulse

Like a heart

Like a rabbit inside a magician’s hat

Like saying

From this vantage point

The present lies ahead

In the parched word the vast sizzling

The loose and tangled fiber

This is just reporting

But I read there’s a star that looks like a human eye

                (You saw us flying over the lake

                So absorbed in your thoughts

                That when we landed we were astonished

                To find a few of our feathers wet)

O you Cacklers

Cackle away

On earth no unearthliness

Lights on in the Shell station

And only you can still clarify the Vedas

Et cetera

I have a memory – like a postcard – of myself up to my neck in

Hope

That’s right

Me

Up to my neck in hope!

The ink that spills thickest before it runs dry

[Note: Sources: “Autopoiesis” XXXVII back to XXIV. Reed Bye, “Border Theme”, in Join the Planets; Ernesto Priego, “Dawn of the Zombies”, Never Neutral, November 16, 2007; Rupert Loydell, “Slow-Motion”, in A Conference of Voices; Mike Davis, London Review of Books, 15 Nov 2007 (see Eileen R Tabios, “LET MOI SENTENCE YA!!” The Blind Chatelaine's Poker Poetics, Thursday, November 15, 2007, where she challenges her readers to use this Davis quote in a poem. Ha, Eileen. Ha); Jack Collom “poem”, in Red Car Goes By: Selected Poems 1955 – 2000 (p.227, in case there’s more than one poem named “poem”); Alan Baker, untitled, from a work in progress; Andrea Baker, “Preface”, in like wind loves a window; Paul Violi, “In Khlebkikov’s Aviary”, in Overnight; Vincent Katz, “Rapid Departures”, in Rapid Departures; Jean Vengua, “Momentum”, in Prau; Ernst Bloch, The Principle of Hope (trs. Neville Plaice, Stephen Plaice and Paul Knight)]

Comments

[Bob]

love the calligramme...

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