Memory of Nothing

MEMORY OF NOTHING Listen: Drag branches comeback Across the forest floor: Knowledge of the rough¡ At water’s edge I gather some things up: “Happy Ending Story”. We’ve the time to give the Babel Tower A close reading. Awful good, Tú As Roy A. Rappaport’s Ritual... as Communication and as State. Our preferences might be Toward more emphasis On species places: Smooth textures of dead wood Knowledge of our hands on arms The body-art of bullshit Drinking cocoa And tend to the faith With a Vampire’s short stick That smells of infinite urine As Madonna. History reveals itself to us In this way: Poetry, Tales, Essays are pamphlets Of impossible interest Multiplying voices-human, voices-animal Voices-plant Voice-life of Earth As Dan O’Neill’s Holiday for Cynics. Look, little one Courtney Love We live this close to disaster There is no turning back From the tops of the trees Which are so dense Almost no sky is visible Only the odor dilates the nostril And quickens the heart On a marijuana tortilla. The buddhists have been tellig us That the Self (Ego) As we conceive of it Is an illusion. A good tip Thinking about Gurney Norman’s Jack and His Ego. Is it? It is that we are of a Time-Sexual Wherein all species has been joined To the Wo/Man Of *****Sapiens And Life is a single exercise of Cannibals In constantly elevating towers Of Bureaucracy. Nothing in Somethingg Something in our Nothingness.