Sunday, March 01, 2009

“Roses are red,
violets are too.
In Soviet Russia,
poem writes YOU!”

Now pure-bred sounds shake all on their own, beaker-speaks for which the only demand in the world
is for words unsown in that world
where field animals
have no language
only evolution
which is a picture
not a history
although it looks like one

dictionary at light’s squeak,
glimpse as skin too instead,
away from things the while
beyond them. chin smidgens.

1 comment:

Steve said...

Very interesting...

Are "words unsown in that world" words focused on theories as opposed to words focused on actual, contact with Whole Reality (that which exists beyond our abstract constructions of reality)?

And "pure-bred sounds," are they the ones "found" in the actual world, as opposed to those "made" in order to "sell" images of the world that get our poets positions in the universities, whereas "beaker-speaks" are "sounds" and words formed by "experimental poetries" fanatically indoctrinated to "make it new?"

Do "field animals / have not language" because only their predators and "masters," humans have "language," the one thing that separates us from them, the one thing that may destroy all of us?

I "evolution / . . . a picture / not a history" because, again, it is merely a "human construct," something made of "language," not something made of stuff that actually exists, of actual physical matters, or anything that "matters?"

And I like "chin smidgens," too, though I haven't processed that last stanza yet. "Chin smidgens" is cool, either way, though... :)