I am a blessed in-digestion,
Turd in the making his way through the
Fiery furnace of acid gnashing and the million little lashings of cilia’s mindless, savoring interdiction
and you there reading this are too
with me
And yes the flames did touch them
and did verily singe every hair on their heads,
did blister and rupture their skin into glowing black mica, crumbling
the beginnings and ends of the earth
will be there with you always,
from the first to the third and last degree
I go round and round your round you’re rounds on round
A soft planet to be plant in
Beyond deserving is the sliding along gravel of laughter
I inhale
A planet, and our pale skin people have come around
To see, after blindness, once again:
A planet is to depend and attend to
The dark earth under your eyes
Is shoreline mud to sink digitigrade landings in
Your hunger mine to feed
Your back mine to scratch is yours,
A rudimentary language
Unlike your fine articulations in limbs and fingers
Inscrutable signs telling me
Yours a mind to mine
There are many here among us
Who feel that life is but a joke.
You are a life,
And I twine around its exclusivity
Dirty, strange, and whole-some
My confusion of alternating
coffee breath and brushed mint,
Cool skin and self-scooping cat box smells
And Aarnold Schwarzenegger surfing on
Its automated trawler
To the shared tune of a Crane,
A pug’s aspirations dragged along in gurgles
And screams, peals
Like the shackles of a bra unsnapped,
Like a trou unbuckled is a release
And a shiver
Like you look at an animal and love
You’re a good joke;
You’re such a good joke!
Such a generous absurdity,
We and this world,
Weighted bidirectionally
As masses meeting
And as purposes, the ley lines
Shooting straight uncertainties around
Pliant, resistant circumferences
Written by Tom Mazanek, from his thesis project, The Nameable and Unnameable, ca. 2006
It not a banner nor the space it spun
It not the ripple of it there not-there nor there
Hedidhe heleftit
Inverstead you pale comparison,
None you live in like man-o-war thread
Shot-through shutterings collaptiscopic
Hedidhe he drop it
Hedidhe he shuff it
He it-edges
He simpid limp it
Allwanting you lack
All one thing she share
’s not there it
went where it
was last when
Hedidhe he brick spin
It go in
All not-scene
Hid seen soft
Nose downwinter keep
Rattlescreed, rundeep
She notyou,
Hedidhe
You appear suddenly from the grasses,
Up close and already prying the person
Open at the tongue.
This is a hunt without injury;
It is a gift you give, getting right in
With a wild wedge
Of all kinds of language.
Then I hear you pry
yourself apart.
When you growl and wail
About the countless injuries
Settled in your bones
Against the love of life,
It sounds to me like you’re taking them
In your jaws and shaking them.
Then you’re off,
Back into the grasses,
Bounding away in the ripples
Of a coat of arson,
Caught again by life
In the next burnishing
Liquid gold lunge at it
Half stiff and stuttering,
Half fluid half routed, half splash
Half flailing and laughing “I’m Sorry!”
Half planted, half practicing poise
Half lilty, stilty, pigeon toes,
Half-cocked head and cockatoo crest
All work and all play
All happen at once
Is whimsy halfway
To learning itself
as charm,
Half tripping,
Half dancing
on wire,
Half preening
on a single stilt,
Half snipping
at a stem
You said the practical man asked you
To take the time to carefully consider
If you need him.
You do not need him.
You know this.
You’ve demonstrated it
Before and during your time with him,
In living day to day well
Over the broad foundation of years.
In this you are more practical than him.
What is practical about the pragmatic man
Needing you
To need him,
And asking you to decide
If he need not need you anymore?
Dactyl Plume: The dot-com of Steve Bakker 