ADAM STRAUSS

 

 

                                     



UNTO

 

 

Here, in alembic copse, where cortex
Seethes, I lie, loll, metamorphose
Myself into supplest pleating;
Then frogs mistake me for lily pads
Which makes perfect sense:
I must, like flowers upon ponds, appear floating
And yes, I assume you feel the
Pull of
My words, their oozing
Reality; or is that expression on your face
Formality meant to quell—
Send deeper unto hell by
Volition I can't
Fathom than as
Insane: membrane has failed
To understand its filtering function, has failed
To be what it is and thus can't
Even qualify as counterfeit some other
Dynamic but merely stands wrong, ripe for
Collapse, wracks, chafing, chastening
Channel overflows—official, interstitial—architrave chiseled
Out by patient ballsy thief sporting tits
So let's spell out tittsy not ballsy as anyways you
Don't give a tosh and that's fine
Because I have forged you for my own entertainment; I have forged
You that you may dress
In vintage Versace and ballet
Flats, trill, trounce upon my witticisms, activate
Seeing to some other realm of action, to
Sublime or at-least subtlest sophistry
Like, like, like, like
Simulacrum won't suffice nor will seraphim,
Immortal portals I'm un-
Able to deem relevant now, ever, but never
Is never the point.

I am not holding my breath, but breath upholds me.

Oxygen, although no gorgeous word, does wonders.

Wonders stare down my every atom till I am dust she rubs from her lenses.

Sky seems most definite limit, not next step or jerboa.

The next step is no limit hisses sand, its suction and shift.

Addresses and deserts have everything in common: especially the despair they catalyze.

It is not illogical, nor is there proof of lacunae, to state I love desert lovers.

In the 90s things hissed; now
One can witness dartles
Swerve to far out archaic
Place where vesper and vortex
Claw, mount heroic alliteration, wentletrap or
Arrival at library,
Repository of story, fiction defining fact this very past
Ponders, pares away till all
There is
Is the
Inessential like a, or close to that one, spitting
Bullets because what other
Dignified way may one split
Such that consciousness no longer knows what's dangerous
Says nothing of
Angkor Watt but heaptones about love, which I cannot,
This moment, describe adequate to calling 9-1-1, though I
Doubt dispatcher's fazed though I don't
Doubt her own life vexes her, or if it doesn't
Then grates at her mother—as if her reaction is pure
Response with no momentum of its own,
Thesis independent what's
Being examined, mined and made diamond: someone else's daemon.

I remind myself I am supposed to be haunted as I stalk through this green.

My hair swings like a hammer, but instead of sprains there are silky strays.

I do not condition my hair, nor do I believe silk to be my hair's innate state.

Through letters, limiting course is eclipsed: clipped and dipped in enamel.

I extrapolates unto totality, unto titrate and its profile.

She wanted, desperately, to believe fear other than instinctual.

The truth—but that is
Claim I can't quite make
True enough to put my steps in—its flee,
Fulcrum as it swings to the center of a,
Alphabetic arrest antecedent to
Lays prima mad, lilts, lifts, lends hand to
Predicates mobility—moil at root
Rotting curl
Rips towards shore, rearranges
Shallows into colossal event; but of course I am
Full of
Rhetoric; but who
Can prove rhetoric isn't wildest love, wildest fluff,
Or if they can
Can they make anyone believe; and if faith
Fails to feel—ah, my
Dear, my Queer, my query, quarry, choir,
Quarantine—then how can one declare seconds real
Or is that the point of reality:
To elude, elude and
Elude, exude that which refuses to be
Acknowledged other than as right here, right there, right where
Plural skirmishes with plural thus soul
Of plurality scoffs, screams, sends—sends—till sentience rends.

Bodies are meant to continue—go on going, depart their velocities.

Dune inters I, that which, eternally, shall be none than momentary.

But enough of I, and moonlight contours this corner of America, dot on debt-map.

Every body is indebted health, health thus constrained by desire—now pleasure.

Without simultaneity what body can survive or would want to.

Rejected for health care and payment's clear is bad State of Nation.

The State should pay for health whether or not payments are past due.

Why can't Nation go in debt keeping healthy; couldn't that create strong economy?

Perhaps war is measure of health, measure of whether there's fight in our bodies.

Time
Frames stick like blood to whatever it is
You're hoping to keep clean of, such blushings, and I am tired
Of believing in the second
Person which is not
To state I am through with falseness, which may be my bedrock,
My bright ancillary
Like tapioca
Pearls as prepared by great chef, someone who knows, needs,
Simultaneously, laboratory and brigade: place
To invent moves and then team with which to perform,
Needs with the none of being
An analytics of breathing—of ceasing to be
Numerous—and even if
There are no staunch rebellions
That's not to say there's no shudder, soul as
Convulsions choke through like expertly blown smoke rings, purls,
Circumference doing its gleam, glam, whose heels are
Higher than hers, hers, hers but
That gal's got the flyest legs, them be
Some beautiful birds, juiciest pecks, plectrum
Played deep unto wine
Coats like jam, sweetly touches taste
Buds as Van Gogh did canvas, breathing
Breath of
Pigment.

What, if any, criteria determine rightest repetitions.

What is redundant versus essential vector.

There, at that edge, repetition breaks and breaks.

The long way down, stomach against grains of cliff, is like traversing fractal.

The way down to the break never primes.

A tongue, somewhere, licks air around its buds.

Typically, at this juncture, girl eats boy and goes to tongueplunge girl.

Such appetite, desire, lust, pleasure, is never than marvelous.

Perception eats experience for breakfast.

The Poland of plum-trees not wars, wars, wars urged his interest.

War and flowers, of course, and of course I am grateful, may be commensurate.

I would be
Paralyzed—well, colloquially—
If you could scan my mind; or would I go for full
Expression, momentum like seed of family
Tree in some field; whether esoteric or
Central
Matters as much as any stuff
Sifted from general currents, mathematic we
Measure our breaths by, examine our dissolution
Unto sundry energetic coils: at times constricts than constructivist
But that's to state nothing of delight flowered there, flowed in
Buzzes, bright whiffs, brittle luculents depart—hands are
Suppler than before; and time is just
Emerging, the very vector, the very the
At the at of initial.

Don't even get me started on animals; but I have as humans are.

Even now humans posit themselves post animal.

This there-here world—living
Through—makes so much
Sense, so much so, till some slides:
"Scale lapping
Scale," architecture of
Defense, insistence
Loves which flummox won't be dismissed.

 

 

                                                                                                      

 

      

 

                                   

 

 


TYPO 27