CODING THE FLOWS

These decimals are a kind of fixation, supernumerary entity
of an impure mathematics.

Their colours corroded, spelt through the leaves of a late
autumn day.

The absolute mass of inertia doubled over in laughter at
those lineaments of sublimated desire.

Here a flag flags, there an encrypted call is heard.

The answer dances, is that it is processed (after a fashion)
as a bouncing chorus line of mimes.

The swift numbers running from the sculpted air each
configures.

Still a form of despair but not yet a diagram of pain, I ask:
is it the aggregate emptiness of a busy life? Or the absence
of some larger activity to engage the river god, idling o'er
the plaited waves?

It seems as if I am being read by something.

Absent-mindedly, missing the sense of things.

Meanwhile the exhilarants thrill to their extruded pleasures
and the insects record in part or wholly the proceedings on
digital chitin. Dig it.

The wave forms (and) slip(s) away (and we bid adieu) a way
the human mind can remain, espaliered as any artificial
life-form.

An energetic plumbed gap, awaiting.

Something seeded in the head.

In the powers that be, exponential, the raised surface of
that formulation, this book of changes.
 
 

CONTENT-TRANSFER-ENCODING

what nearly became entangled
with the articulation
wobbles
wildly

clearly
she is rhythmic
as the sea is
syllabic

the shape within the flute
congruent to the labyrinth
inside the ear

ambient
noise of the whorl

(genital etymologies)

later wave spawned language

and surf poetics
spume swell in-
sistent faceted
sibilance
 
 

KATALYSIS

Various dreams were hindrances.
 

Partial obscures, or stoppages.
 

        It is the removal of the Outside.
 

By this I mean the arrangement of the screens.
 

                Gamut hinted at, perhaps apt gap
                in the rapture.
 

Point sublime not taken.
 

                Chasm phantasmal.
 

        Grok this. This is, after all, the present pastoral,
        and I am that ambivalent bract, in theory replete.
 

        Got rural if you want it, or revels in the suburban
        ravine.
 

                Hatted or pate naked to the insidious rays
                of the deregulated sun.
 

                        Simply a matter of disposition.
 

        The poets of the concrete demobbed. Patamilitary
        in tatters.
 

                Shall we speak of empires, and dance?
                Resistance is febrile. The land and its avatars
                carry big hammers.
 

        So chill to the incendiary.
 

                Somebody's been planting cryptograms
                in the free trade zone again.
 

Given as a way in.
 
 

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