Sunday, October 3, 2010
Poem 37 – Satisfactions are gaps in desire [Response to Exchange Value #3 by Kai Fierle-Hedrick]
Satisfactions are gaps in desire
(for what's left)
Pass the object around and share its story
A placebo made of velvet, filled with sawdust and spores
A cluster of fruit flies in the heat of my chest
I trusted you with the bases pointing inward
Has the heart of shame grinned?
This is a portrait of a pale straight list if I say so
Two past lovers and a boss
Where I used to scratch to go out or in
Tough, hard and rigid produced in high-gloss colours
We do most of our thinking with our vocal cords
The composition must react to the edges
I didn’t mean to say anything about “docile”
Create a gap between the two parts of the logo
The solvent of the native gum and then the epiphany
When machines shift context the needless detail emerges
I never felt stupid before I took this test
Utilize proprioceptive surplus against the firm numb organ
No longer a procedure of heroization
In fact there was a blanket of hills, it saturates relief
Confusing or genuine magic pixel amazes me
Either way, this is a valuable purchase
Everyone must write a book called house
Assigning zones of immaterial sensibility to the various collectors
Forms and scales of high-creep-resistant “freedom”
Language is a part of orgasm and no paperwork is overwhelming
To preach anything is to give it away
Doing this experiment felt more like a translation
The plane is also emphasized and nearly single
Guest Poem – Exchange Value #3 by Kai Fierle-Hedrick
EXCHANGE VALUE #3; 01 October 2010
+ With thanks to Emma Cocker and Anonymous
What gaps in a language worried by love –
or like
I body their truth and causal
exchanges of naïveté –
the swagger-hip, swagger-hip.
Scratchings on wood brittle
our felt betweens.
And, a heap of negotiation, I kiss you.
A slick of sweat behind my knees:
Cost is the backbone of each speech-act.
You exit left, vanished, a relationship
neither to history nor without it.
I am against a chair and still in it.
Ragged edges and gloss.
I am at a loss for what’s left to describe.
The draft goes like caution and
where the language stuck us. I push
this heart through what’s left.
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