Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Crackling Open the Nevermind

of Maxwell Clark

                                                                                                Just the asynchronous face
                                                                                                Of my elsewhere forgotten
                                                                                                Saying; not this Said
                                                                                                It left (as) herein.

Flat? the indiscrete focal sequences/Unfold in irregular juts.
This is a description of my senses.
                Remodel extravagances of a
                Chipping jut—illimitable but
                Textural; timbral inter-stutters
(Or more or less)
(Of lessening).
                Then genres.

A report on the justice of slavery:
“A march for good jobs”.

Any jut is whereof.
                                                                                                I doubt I think:
                                                                                                Therefore I just am.
                Ger tzedek,
                As still it goes on outside this.
Forget more and more, so but forgive too rarely.
Death if butt hangs out.
To comment on what I am doing.
                Little smooths and dirt.
(((I, of you, sing, to you, my truth: you.)))

Then, after that, comes then the next, which is set-in after what was before it. The adoption of a more critical and rigorous approach. I may also elicit opprobrium from my audience. Cower awhile, and weep, trembling/Of your foolishness, so divinely pretty....
                                                                                                Pity—for being so alive.
                                                                                                Pump the move.
That the personalization of nature (animism).
                                                                                                An apology.
Be (as I fear)?
Consoling observance of the rituals of the dead.
Glory but disintegrates the body into cancers of light....
                Little matter if it doesn’t work out.
                I say this because I like (you) to[o].
Good, now again; then do that; yes, alright!@

An inept critique of inconsistent sets of data.
The wisdom taught by love is the impossibility of learning better.
                                                Perfect sentence stop.
                                                The Good of homeless psychotics.
                                                To teach the youth.
What I have not signed herein is most myself,
As if you might follow the spacings of these marks
Backwards into time.
                My blackness.
                A lapsed Quakerism.
                Love names us.
                                                This mission is important.
                                                A poem that does not teach
                                                Is never learned.
                                                Nor combat what does not to me exist.

There is no slavery if death is preferable.

                                                The attunement of sweet accents.
                                                How it is done.
The area looks secure.
Barbaric reality on the ground as well.
The intensification of sensory experience into a qualitatively distinct (abnormal) experience.
A phenomenology of capitalism indeed.
The figures of logic require practices.
                Dodeccahedral inter-isolation.
                                                                                                The tenses
                                                                                                Of history.
Incessant revision to grandiose essay.
Burial mound as dwelling.
All peoples will migrate again.
Already the terrain becomes much less foggy.
                Peaceful demonstrations demonstrate
                The potential for organized violence.
                Our bodies are like bells.


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