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My Precise-Precious Image. She‘5.…poetry that is hard and clear, never blurred nor indefinite’, I – Being a Refusal to Crystallize the ImageMy clear and precise Image. She refuses to constellate. Stendhal. Crystallize in. I’m not anxious at this. Comes later. Not get me wrong, get me. All mixed up with sound and city and fax and trafficked. This last desperate blindness. Depresses. They need a revolution and we’re decomposing in refusals to paint. Photograph. Complete what? II – Next we dissolve one potentially oppressive self You can watch me. Okay? As voyeurs butcher the lyric I. Not writing now. Dropped the fragment of wanting to make. In Duchamp’s urinal. You can flush it, like the woman in the advertisement. Sprayed her odour into many children days. That was the fifties/sixties—hypnotics, technocratic lust: Loving male model looks on as she fornicates her husband. He gets his. Later. III – Lastly, the Baby with the Bathwater ‘Sign’ (L-a-n-g-u-a-g-e) I just realised a cookbook. How many would be famous. Telephone book, textbook poems? Hold that questionmark! … rock-a-bye baby ‘a to z’. It’s okay, soon it’ll be over. This advert for knappies any way. Endgame/silence: close to the big-bug ‘Z’. Maybe at ‘X’ or ‘Y’. Don’t swear, Wittgenstein. At. Why (not) egg scramble? Bombs, falling. Noise. Ern Malley – sandwiched, between In – I realize I’m feeling/ emotioned up. Must down the slow elixir of singular rebellion. e.e. IV – Of Sad Things and Namings and Transience |
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