The pathology of a cyber is under-
written rhetoric and scriptic hijinks,
ascii punnage, as old as refrigerator magnets
oughtabe, says, lan' sakes, say a blot
on the record, that periodicity,
confounded omni-speak, such a
conference: that 'tranny' hand,
and/or general anaesthetic
making hands shaky,
as if change(d) might be measured
in the character of writing,
of Ohio cursive.
What do we have in sign?
What ligature and sinew
in panoramics, the director's
cut of straw dogs or the like,
land, and place, vineyards
in full Virgil, this bodymass,
this tattooing self and calling
it cultivation. No farmers,
no food, it says. We eat
our own inscriptions.
A platitude. An aphorism. Lacunae.
Note in waste spaces, frame
those sleepy mappings. In these robin-rich
green tailings, as if rhythms should bind,
hinted and spoken. So, this sovereignty,
and damn culture as viable,
incremental as blazes, stunning
as headlines, straight
from the hellbox. Hot as type
cast, and ink vats. That's what comes
of electronic fonts and references.
What can I write for you?
That you were here, order
in front of me, of my eyes: chickencoop,
freerange quillage, cabbage red lozenges,
all excuses for input, side effects:
so, hot-to-trot, no more than we
were painted, enraptured and well-mannered,
this changing of the disposition: see
footprints and seals, good standard
raised at the table, as fidelity
implicates, not returned if tasted
In good society the legibility
of one's hand paramounts bonds
of marriage; in this quotation,
this ceremony, physiocratic portraits
no more candid than our childhood:
portions, upper tables, working words
like gluttony, or just hard to come by,
the spitting image. So ennobled,
he writes in crisis and disharmony
again. So might she. Sanctioned,
customs oftentimes intervened:
the elephant foot hat stand,
Restrictions, prestige, luxury
items: souventes fois. Not in good company.
Spoken like a speech. Just
taking the disc plough for a burl,
cutting the top up, making patterns.
The scarifier fools no one.
Just plane vulgar.
Plain speaking, we make
Visiting the house built by the third bishop of Ohio she said she knew
she had to behave, to be good. the view from that window
had to be kept intact, the trees topped just below
the sill, line-of-sight clean as a whistle,
she said he'd look out mid-epistle
to see the spire of his church.
None of the birds here are like or just as,
and the eye-pool compares to nothing:
sunless, they take light and deposit
droppings on the curl of the storm-fuelled
grass, which doesn't BELONG here anyway.
The state bird is a latecomer, they'll tell you.
Six times eighteen small panes inside six
larger frames, divisible by three larger frames,
three moving parts apart from latches.
Export sense and dissect
this rent, for God's sake, zoology and translation,
this echidna that projects
himself without giving herself
away: comprehension, cogency, universality.
Dead in the age it appeared in: now, that's
criterion. See, this life/death filial inscription,
see this remedy, borrowed decidable.
Effecting the product of paint, or produced effect
painted as newness, it creates hymn, creates city.
Night-hinged, plus je jet plume, reliure, door,
sepulcher: its buildings. Sexually
copperplate, as entailed as supplements.
This is for "yous" (differentiated
particles in class structures,
rabid defamiliarisation, they
even go there,
won't stream in the coastal town
of Geraldton). Vertical
literature is no crisis, like lists of flowers
(buddleia, irises, tic tocs)
spread into house,
the staged verandah,
a voter's registration.