Undo Unmake
But breakfast’s subject beckons:
the booster affair effect in Tumblr-
land? The digital map surveillance
co-sponsor the soccer mom sauce
minivan project, relay & speech
to cell battery fiasco. Batteries
have lives too, reads the cloud script.
FML maxims of self-loathing guilt
& shame reach into their emptiness.
They find, feeding on excrescence
derivatives piling up in excess,
that death's preferable to that
I say so chamber.
& from such varied
buffets, on the inside, on
sublime regions of the in–
terior where everyday sound makes
in its own grammar –
as in, in the style of – subverts that ease,
brings pause; regathers fingerprint
to tensions suspended as if by
cables even though, between sighs
ataxia keeping pace without ordered
syntax & symbol graft’d to its surface,
ciphers eat lines of fir-tree needles.
Q botanical fur - Cy Twombly, first
Love of Rauschenberg,?caught up
in its stitch.
Slips emerge in a scene,
Allowing language to find body's instrument
To hear the dead who live in in it:
phone homes to homes are calls back
to homes no longer home to hosts.
In the a.m. a window
red nova
thread from bovine breast
drips squid ink in
a polypropylene bin.
No point a point still, none
but a collection of outside ofs
Whatever set limit; to be
as hunger takes each form
exchanges of fluids & food
to maintain, though phantom,
These forms. Children pass
comets in public square,
parentless parenthesis.
What begins in fold or recess
means to mean
good to friends, to make
window instead of transparency,
to paint orange-peel textured
walls with latex grey,
to tape every foot of trim
& hang doors, to keep a clean
line of sight, to thank the ones
who brought one into
this, the whatever it is form
& stranger still unknown
animating it, slow
but sometimes
with deliberation.
The chip man’s on the corner
with processors, off-kilter
hums come from alleys
& from above, not a man-
nerism crisp or elegant, ribbons
mis-guided in glue’s
normative guide–
voices adjusted, injuries
with long life spans.
Successive treatments
like going out fishing
in a lake unable to hold live animals
for a generation. The bets go out
anyway, thin necks, brains powerful
enough to bring contusion’s
combination dark blue depths
to bruising with an attention
to that man standing still
in the middle of an intersection
in the middle of a street
in New York City.
Copyright ©
Henri Wyatt Blumenfeld
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