| The Way of the World 1) the small and the large the simple and the toasted antibodies for privacy sex with teflon and blood the mass of men velocity of plants the laws of daily routine: drain the muscles lubricate the stone horizon the scar down his chest like the aerial view of river i fell into a bird suddenly made human ignorant of gravitys dance-laws 2) a proper globe is covered with the skin of one person's chest, the map makers practice tattooing live people who then serve as advertisement while having legal protection from foul play-- its easier without the bones but the training is in vision, and in the hiding the seams with topography and longitude globe standing on whose head, a wall to force, a cud to chew one world one market cash and its companions, trading our way up and calling it evolution calling it progress 3) "The entire body is continually mapping and consulting with what becomes constructed at various levels as realities." (henry gould) i dive into the tattoo bulging between the biceps, an incendiary city underwater of viscous vision whirls around the blades from as high as i can see falls into my hands at night so free of temperature and texture the moon doesnt wane but unpeel and flare like global methane heatless airless nothing to burn but a way to cool so nothing stays nothing gets comfortable needle makes the mountain flat white 4) "The local is a shabby thing. There's nothing worse than bringing us back down to our own little corner, our own territory, the radiant promiscuity of the face to face." (Jean Baudrillard) local anesthetic, crazy without a place, easy as falling off a theorem, anti-rhetorically say it in monosyllables, in broken english, rupturing the esophagus, mistaking the vocal chords for a condom that wont unroll no matter how high i pitch my voice it wont go over the barrier, mock sound mock lobster dipped to become a match elements to change a place with cosmetic surgery by the acre 5) by the time i get back around everything's moved: iguanas turned into trees, pond with a family of 16 living over it: as bugs said -- "i knew i shoulda turned left at albukoiky" or a place high enough to throw a small dog onto something hard enough impact makes a map or a citymap with pins at each intersection where drivers gave me the finger i weave a distance catcher so i can stash shortcuts safe passages i can drive while unconscious not as automatic as duty, the way downhill to home, the friday night path through vined over miasma strength where the week ends, strings for flossing harping fishing memory palm fronds glued at odd angles to stones and shells, constellations tattooed on a palm or inside an eyelid, knowing what trapezoid tween what stars will get us home from the galaxys center i try to ease each breath into |