Using the human nervous system as a representational medium, are there parts of the universe that are innately unknowable to us?
Artists struggle to extend our perceptions through the library and out into the world where the wild things hurry and hurdle and hurl in turmoil and proposal.
Explain the ocean. Trumpet your perceptions in sonnet and paint. In squares and circles and heaving tongues of steel. Vibrating chords. Scurrying fictions.
There is a marbling in the mind, intermixtures of transcendence and bewilderment. Hold a rock in your hand. What does it say? Whatever it says will convulse in the mouth. Ooze life and garret, pavilion and dock.
Braque and his rocks.
Increase is decreased by the increase of decrease. Whereas decrease is increased by the decrease of increase. And increase is outdoors whereas decrease is apparent in concentration.
The world is remembered in copper and clapper. And the way the waves move and the tides come and go and a seagull is reflected on the sheen of the shore.
In your left pocket.
The universe we do not see is tangential to our blood. A radio squawking, hugged in vibration.
I love this chair and its framework. The neck is a structure. The head is an explosion. The voice emerges from the throat and its sounds are shaped by the lips and tongue. The bones bend, but the muscles describe. The fire burning in the words is an apparition, an amiable prodigality. The thunder feels like candy in the bones. It crackles and spits and sparks fly. It is luminous and jaunty. Congenial or indifferent. Unpredictable as a poem.
Granite speaks to us of duration. The sky struts across the water and coils around an idea. The idea of floating. The idea of wood. The idea of ballast and sail. The idea of eating. The idea of scale.
The world spins and the stars pulse explicit as time. There is always room for reflection. Volume employed to expand the music of mass.
A low murmur by the milk pail radiates purple haze. The intestines wobble by the wall. The universe is so big that we cannot see it. But it is there. It disturbs the surface of our coffee. Our faces. Our sugar. A buffalo stampede in 1850. Converging in a thought. The eye of a hawk.
Emphasis is the poet’s best friend. Roar, shout, cry against injustice. There at the headland where the sea crashes. Address the world as you would a lover.
Sensation creates emotion emotion creates linen.
A feeling glows and burns and circulates. You can hear it. Diving into books. Entertaining words. Pouncing on illusions. Eating them. Digesting them. Coughing up diversion. Squeezed rawhide. Punches and cogs.
This is a drug. A composite of thoughts and oceans and spoons.
I am bringing an ocean into your head. I am carrying it with my mind. I am spilling it in words.
As the World Turns
1 day ago