portrait of the deconstructionist in salmon-colored light,
who, in the archive, is persistent. Where is
Peter the Roman? What root, what tree, what breath
shall be transformed into the paper that becomes
the Peace Treaty for mid-east turmoil?
May 20 2010: "Iran says they can destroy Israel in week"
& so as it is, another: "Euro in danger: Germans trigger
panic over future of single currency"--
'coincidences' rake through media. The night has come,
but who is ever sleeping? Madmatter, mutter of mothers,
daughters blaze like blizzards, fathers figure into their sons'
vortexes, allowing them to disappear like cosmic matter,
like a body without organs. Control
from the unfolding is this theme; the egg
hatches, out comes the "king of the south"--
Joe Brandt, in '37, a vision of chaos:
the president would have big ears. Was his mouth
also like a flaming sword? Dear globalization, could you speed up?
I have a path to take. This is like a film
that cannot move fast enough, where the cinematographer
must have been sleeping-at-the-camera.
This patchwork needs no shadows,
like post glacial rebound. This language is all too familiar;
let's smear it out, like consciously constructed photo-sets.