Robert Mittenthal

Wax World
 

It is my signature block = i.d. comma

whack whack carriage return

lookuptype M underscore
 

This temporary intrusion

certified as gift — if muscles grow

down into a logic larger
 

Its beginning separates

                at the neck

so much depends upon a stain
 

Gravy raised to an illicit power

the necktie invective equal to what black

words leafed out — into a list of hated things
 

                We wait for the

same stain with a different title

long division of one
 

A knock out or puzzle

another five letter word for

"we will keep your resumé on file"
 

Sweat equity for a finger that

gives them that liquid sign.

In other words, reread the credo
 

and connect the dots. Habit is a streetcar

so named. The inspecific personified.

A jigsaw abatement seen from the
 

privacy of the #28 bus. It is an elimination

you will someday agree. The long acres of fact —

blind man in perpetual close up — moving lips.
 

Labor untied in the 'adjust-me' knot

tops off the tank — an economy of one

or the pigeons — a comic mode of standing up
 

Until we cannibalize the pride

this cub scout version of events.

Hippo slowly submerging — hot swapping
 

pond items for a swan bite. It's the bubble

disorder in celebration of that ominous

shark sound, ideological free lunch
 

or the literature that feels good to know you

incest of its most excited theorists

two thumbs up — above the head
 

but over my dead module

Everything gems its identity of suchness

introducing Frank and Stein on ice
 

a sort of wurst à la fromage or

carefully flagrant genius — in this difficult

glacier of a book they slept alone
 

The memory discards again — just call me Frank

there's no such thing as one and one

but they threw the book at me
 

A paperback or sort of Canadian one-day only sale

lottery now at ten million

but in Jeff's terms 1.47
 
 
 

100 Words of Wax
 

                                ingrown but active

                                not listening but half submerged in green
 

Seawater shadows it

(4) blackberry badge and eyes
 

this sort of saying names itself

for example, here come the cows!
 

(21) to sing only & strangely

to name a badge any badge — in sing along mode
 

no fishkill to tank the still conquering shade

or sour the precious still
 

whose New Jersey air forgives nothing

(56) groin extended in stiff sleep
 

the shadows these airmen eat

& pretend to go on
 

(72) how could they

so refined, prophetic &
 

still (again) it then is a choice

correction: first song last — sung toward
 

was it too long the

(98) rain lengthwise
 
 
 

Gag

                - . . . indicating first of all something that could be put in your mouth
                to hinder speech, as well as . . . improvisation meant to compensate
                for a loss of memory or inability to speak.
                  — G. Agamben
 

Permission to approach the yellow disk at a distance.
 

Enclosed in the gesture, a man twists an orange into his mouth.
 

If appearing not said is lost, memory a speech defect comes with it.

Hand holding hand — no engine of taste forgiveness.
 

Can't get enough difference — a concrete antenna to balance the sky.

Liar! You glisten beneath narrow cast frequency arrays.
 

A pun riveted until punched — until its pencil of light cannot be

contained. The sculpture says nothing. It harvests only the gray grain

& cackles when a crow swallows.
 

Silence is its stupid thing. A body English out of words — out of names.

It fights the flicker of stunted dots — up-screen of erratic paint.
 

In this school of other import, against the sterile comforts of unbound

life, contagion springs a monster. Its original revolt was too jealous —

earth flattened in the eccentric threads of that one thing.
 

We removed the grass, the ants and the words — leaving perception in

a vividness of dirt. Thumbing its green at you — no sweat in relation to

time.
 

A cinema whose separate vacation withheld the steady state.

Investigating the awkward between, fact as boundless self-organized.

History's order — less the crowd.
 

At the end blossoms go white — tyrant steam to flame. A copyrighted

face on the list of names.
 

In order of appearance, physical traits empty out — barefoot but fast.

It's a euphemism for the poem — a horror of thought. A parade of

names scrolled out in the colored lights.


 


((((((((( The Alterran Poetry Assemblage ))))))))) 

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