#378 La traversée difficile

The eye model presented
is the stuff of legends, a
stylistically pleasing & emo-
tionally useful device in which
is embedded a sonar sensor
ultrasonic rangefinder that can
detect objects up to many kilo-
meters away. Can't always
identify what they are, though.
Thinks what we see as a storm-
battered square rigger might
be a mere rough stake, or a
piece of shapeless wood, or
even an expensive delicate ship,
escaped from some other Museum
of Fine Arts, that has somewhere
to get to & sails calmly on.

#377 Magritte

ran
second in
the Rockhampton Cup.
 


 
Might
have won
except the jockey
 


 
left the course
& got
lost.
 

#376 The Explanation (2)

Father is discarded, is
dying, may even be
already dead. Freud
sits at the prestige table
offering up thanks to
Sophocles, thinking
that without the help
of Oedipus Tyrannus,
he may not have even
managed to get a seat
at the table nearest to
the kitchen. Mother
has another drink, says
to her son: "Now I have
the carrot & the stick in
one." Son: "In vino veri-
tas. Fuck you, Mother."

#375 The perfume of the abyss

                                         Incorrect to talk of the 
                      food chain as if it were 
                               a single entity. Absence 
                                      blots people out. Others 
                          emerge, elements of a
                               sense of guilt that is
                   sometimes offered up 
                                       as a straight radiant, 
                         sometimes as the center-
                                   piece of a vesica piscis, 
                      the fish's bladder favored 
                                 by some religions. The
                         abyss is redolent of each
                                  & every aspect — or
                               would be if someone were 
                                       there to be aware of them.

#374 The Roof of the World

I am lost, though the street signs tell me I'm at the corner of Main & Forthright. This is a part of—uptown? downtown? out of town?—I do not recognize. There is traffic on the roadway, people walking there, bodies decorated with model cars that encase their waists, obeying the traffic directions, the lights, the speed signs. There is a separate lane for pedal cars. The sidewalks are paved with astroturf.

#373 The Poetic World

Now that interactive kiosk
projects are breaking up on
the beaches, & gay couples
no longer have concerns a-
bout big business gaining
a stranglehold over ephemera
sales, let's put on another
silly dance track & direct our
attention toward the need for
a retirement income from some-
thing outside the stock market.

#372 Nocturne

               Everything seems in a 
       state of flux. The model in 
                     this scenario effects 
           a reduction in uncertainty. The 
               result? An equivalent period 
                      will be deducted from 
             the time it takes the house to 
                           burn. So, to escape, 
                the bird must venture 
                     along the borders of chaos
                          & hope neither bilboquet
                   nor curtain falls upon it.

#371 La Fenêtre de Mélusine

No man permitted to see
her in her bath. & yet here
she is with a menhir watching
over her. The open air is not
her natural element, but
night — & the ewer of water
nearby for safety — allows
her to partake of it. So, she

kicks her serpent tail away
& offers the promise of her
future self up to it, that
full moon riding on or in
her belly evidence of the
shapeshifting still to come.

Three poems from Series Magritte at Youtube

via The Continental Review





Read by Miia Toivio & with graphics by Marko Niemi

#370 The Age of Marvels

The abdomen is ex-
orcised & filled with
clockwork. It is another
deconstruction, like
the distraught easel,

unlike the painting on
the easel which is care-
fully constructed & ready
to receive an occupant
in the coming week.

#369 L'Ange Migrateur

Mi sono sentito come una barca sbattuta da tante parole. I felt like a boat slammed by so many words, even though this is mare nostrum, our sea. There was an error when communicating with the Annotation Service. It was 52mm in diameter, made of steel, & considered hazardous — that's all that was known about it. No changes that occur at a specific altitude have been made to the original text. No drive for respiration in response to the sep- aration of head, the skewering of body to a convenient table. We cannot carry on as before & wait for the weather to improve. How do birds find their way?