[From Penetralia, a new collection of poems, to be published by
Black Widow Press in 2016]
In Matta’s “Wound Interrogation,
a large pulpy vaginal wound hung before it.
“The wound is separated from
This morning at
end of first light
cloud pythons gargling menstrual-seminal elixir.
Matta’s robots interrogating—I propose: Persephone’s sexuality.
Who exactly inhabits Hades’ kingdom?
ALL DO (a chorus chants) THAT IS WHY HADES IS SO RICH
Can I interrogate this region of dense, cold air without light?
“You can, but my icy lace is blinding& my knuckles, feeble from your Herculean viewpoint, are
hurricane poundings, tidal flail.
while lurching out of bed, crash onto
I am the kobold which bit your ankle as you climbed out of a cave.
While you were driving home that night I bit again
so that you smashed into a ditch & really did that ankle in.
I am, in other words, untapped center, shifty ‘always.’
In my casket chloroform are blind troll suns, split
gourds of brain jam, simmering golden sweat known as world wars.
You glimpsed my erection in
So I opened my beak toward you that you might watch me scram via
a bison’s vagina-winsome hanging guts
There never was a beginning!
All is nexus & midriff cast on an alabaster plain of marauding
The frailty of being holed & rampant with closure.Blake’s angels feast on my neck
as strapped to this fuselage of honking verbs I watch Hades:
a zyzzogeton munching on alfalfa alpha.
For that matter, what is deliverance?To find oneself present at Pluto’s cornucopian spread & grasp
that one must not pluck a single grape?
The first Persephone, Laussel, pumped time out of her held-aloft& with that image phantom she impregnated herself!
Between the cracks in the time board,to write from a double periphery, in swerve with the labrys…
“Not to subject“but what bugs you
change,” Hades quipped,
One: The suppression of
horrifying truth of the 9/11
assault (more appropriately referred to
as “The Pentagon Three Towers Bombing”) infests the
American soul with a stifling sense of unreality charged by the rivers of blood flowing alongside the Euphrates & Tigris through a destroyed &
failed state that may never again be reconstructed. I note that o therwise responsible political thinkers like Oliver
Stone & Bill Maher will not even engage this ongoing nightmare.
The truth of The Pentagon Three Towers Bombing is, like an undiagnosed plague, lodged in
the American subconscious. This truth is now the lie veneer of our dailiness. There is a knotted
veil in our eyes building rancor where there
could be revelation.
Two: Since I have been writing, translating, & editing for over 50 years, I have to deplore
degree writing programs that are in the
process of substituting creative writing for the art of poetry. In 1994 I
wrote: “Quotational Reality is the
new Purgatory making each desire artificial.” My comment appears to identify
Kenneth Goldsmith’s aes theticized
The first poets, facing
division between what would become culture & wilderness, taught themselves how to span it & thus in such caves
as Chauvet & Lascaux respond to their
“wound interrogation”. Our key distinction may become that of being the first generation to have written at a time in which
the origins & the end of poetry became discernable.
The poem is a fire burning alone out of contact with
I study it as Heraclitus studied fat raccoon clouds become weeping
Sky stigmata. Archaic smile of
An image is firearound which language appears to be
James Hillman: “I and soul are alien to each other because of soul’sby powers, daimones and gods” Soul is molten protocol.
Life isCount Gaga spread-eagled & gagged in everyone’s smoking gate.
blessing. Death the “less” in
Humankind is timed, as if with a timer, by & for
Know thyself = know thyself to be mortal.
To think of
te thered mandala of the hand,
an infinite finger among
Vodun thumb-post attended by 4 hexed dwarves.
Palm pressed to
new human negative:
I dream because I first had hands.And in dream tonight I held my fire in my hands,
my fire with Caryl’s eyes!