Thursday, April 11, 2013
So That Its Hollow Spaces Seem Solids of Light, Until It Wobbles and Begins to Whine, and Then with an Odd Lunge Eccentric and Reckless, It Skids Away and Drops Dead into Its Own Skeleton
Play it loud. Not symbolic of mood, just loud. Quick: The autoroobigraphical and self-innoculating question is, am I a bad and shallow human I'm able to entertain myself and not feel hollow? Asked that on twitter, got one retweet, one mention, one favorited, but no answers. Mid-project elsewhere, I'll get back to you, here or there, or not but yes or not but not. Quick: Mercury rising (a visualization). Black gold or red bricks? Adronitus. Her so-called 'post-feminist' life in arts and letters. My friend Flicker. New Seidel poems. The indoors is endless.
This admirable gadget, when it is
Wound on a string and spun with steady force,
Maintains its balance on most any smooth
Surface, pleasantly humming as it goes.
It is whirled not on a constant course, but still
Stands in unshivering integrity
For quite some time, meaning nothing perhaps
But being something agreeable to watch,
A silver nearly silence gleaning a still-
ness out of speed, composing unity
From spin, so that its hollow spaces seem
Solids of light, until it wobbles and
Begins to whine, and then with an odd lunge
Eccentric and reckless, it skids away
And drops dead into its own skeleton.