Saturday, October 24, 2009

Blackbox or blog?

The shell beyond which clarity
Counting to five wrongly
The armor that prevents understanding
A pedestal sink in the way of thought

Not metaphor or one idea
Following but the urge to tear apart
The fingers and hands cannot
Unscrew the phillips screw

The fingers can only seek the various
Tools that built the tools that built
The object inflated in a world without will
The foregone conclusion we allude to that only we can stop

The skin is faster as I
Patch in an old text here
These frames wired then
Into an assemblage of fact


I meditate on the little stars
Disasters for a body built
Whose perfect expression walks itself
Stumbling heavily, prone to misdirection

It chose to remain within
Not at rest but alive or in pursuit of a power to be affected
An image masochist whose bent eyelids recede
Passion by turns harnessed

Abraded flesh of a composite
Reaching up to pull down
Each word on my forehead punched out or remaindered
It's a chorus of voices in the ear

Or a knife, a tag team
For the prosthetics that extend a hand
Before then how do you do
Fisted numb it's the black of all feeling

Resonance in the viewer a taste on the lip
Where words break to reverse thought

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