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

zones of conversation.

I body their truth and causal
exchanges of naïveté –
the swagger-hip, swagger-hip.

Censorship is a technique of remembrance.

Scratchings on wood brittle
our felt betweens.

This is a strategy.

And, a heap of negotiation, I kiss you.

The absence of text is a question of position.

A slick of sweat behind my knees:

unstable truths and ethical possession.

Cost is the backbone of each speech-act.

Social assemblage.

You exit left, vanished, a relationship
neither to history nor without it.

Object action object

I am against a chair and still in it.
Ragged edges and gloss.

Repeat, repeat

I am at a loss for what’s left to describe.
The draft goes like caution and

the marks are doors

where the language stuck us. I push
this heart through what’s left.