I was busy
with frivolity
& its pursuit
of intellect
when this dig
poked head
from screen
and said, dude
bring fist down
to table & I thought
well, what does
make me happy
other than the
absolute mystery
of composition
with specific regard
to feeling thing’s
inscrutable range
of depth
& creeping
action on the ever
unready to be
pleasant mind?
The first thirty-six
seconds of Polvo’s
for one, & as
it turns out
you can read
The New Spirit
and listen to
On The Mouth
on headphones
on the L train
beginning with
a G, & there’s
something tran-
sistent about
the two at once
the looked at
listening of sitting
and reading while
the singer sings
“clean is not a
state that’s real”
& maybe that
would be in
The New Spirit
or not, but pull-
ulating does drop
by, & the post-
punk position
as complanation
of “I’m ready to
leave again” drops
by repeatedly to
begin and begin
and begin, & it’s
less clear to me
now as to how
war and aesthetics
sit in temporal
relation to one
another as both
are and are not
ignored, and endless
war doesn’t quite
greet endless aesthetics
or perhaps they
touch like two
digitally composed
globes that animate
one globular unreal
& easily perceived
something on the
verge of something
else so one may be
the old moved mover
of yore, though
interconnection is
a military invention
isn’t it, and art is
always usually x
amount of years
behind military tech
and ditching beauty
hasn’t exactly shortened
the gap, but ditching
irritation is no help
either. I keep wanting
to dig The Hurting,
which must have
worked very hard
for me in an older
continuous present
but I only get a few
good seconds from
each tune, though
the Banshees and
Kiss Them For Me
almost shockingly
gives minutes, & 3
Ft. High &Rising
joyfully conjures
embarrassment –
I literally needed
a piece of rug to cut
slide, move the feet
without lift this
one Buffalo eve
in the deep of an
anti-gathering comp-
lex of quadrangle
living: all those
in sample form
of rock and soul
so oddly delicate
as to feel unvanished
in time without
resembling memory.