Sunday, June 7, 2009
“In geology, subduction is the process
…at convergent boundaries…
one tectonic plate moves
The trench forms volcanoes above
the subduction and water sweats out.
I think behind the face which called
from Japan (and brought back the coasters).
I told her love can interfere
where it’s hot; then injury and absence
are igneous corridors of wronged heat
extending down trenches--no dopamine.
"Lorenz…developed…fixed action patterns….
a fixed action pattern is…instinctive…
indivisible …and runs to completion…
invariant and…produced by
a neural network…in response to…
(a)sign stimulus…from one individual
to another" (Wikipedia)
It’s not how you do it it's what you do,
because how is what.
Inner demons unify a poet’s target enemy,
And guerrilla work is work done on what’s left,
Of the cheating, awkwardness, and lethargy.
New utterance changes our fortitude into
A trembling adrenaline of being.
The age of despair is a loosening void
Now renewed towards a more current seeing.
And all that’s uncanny from old sublimations
Is now in a spoil-chest from an earlier war,
all that commotion from un-imprinting
oppressive tongues and their hallowed lore.
It’s a difficult age minus aged that’s become,
which leaves little room for the sum of before.
She no longer talks of how he refused
her father's help with the building a fire.
An arrow arcs then lingers below
water in its wake: the fire
Always quieting, a return that's different:
no bedsores, no womb swish, no sea lights at the synapse;
and smells electrical soften me
over to some sort of dimming; more dimming.