Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Alfred Kreymborg's Advice from a Caterpillar upon Mushrooms

the sliver is perfectly transparent,
and our knowledge of it trans-apparent,
its existence being made known
by a cluster of inconsistent experiences
loosely titled pain which spread out
over the conundrum in a line
whose surety means conjecture,
and as its form is radical, or hyperinflected,
its aggregation spread wide so as to
propel its name up into the higher classes
of an endeavor, a granulation spreading
Ozymandian rubbings of rubbings, so too
is this lowly mechanical sibling also
radically constructed, its name leveraging
its path slowly, not as parasite or symbiote,
but as blind and accidental invader, purely
mechanistic and unmanufactured, and yet
wholly manufractured, for its consistencies
are cultural, and its birth, the dropping of a vessel
on concrete stairs where its body, its radical
tunnel-ever-deeper for no reason other than
the shape of my self or name; see then
the poet, an immaculate mechanical sliver
standing in for being, and being distending
to become that thing, but being not that
thing at all, but always that thing,
a transparent invader.