FROM THE POETRY DEPARTMENT

Pyramid’s View from a Pier

A long poem with formal elements.

From the bowels of it—the pyramid—
Nothing. Of course, something, some ones,
But no specters forced to a gold pose hold,
No plaque by guard-rail frames rust’d;
crustacean forms hadn’t split spindle
Of chrysalis’s silk. Hadn’t bent bough down
To crack’d stalks fallow on ochre ground.
Without such designatory forms time holds
Ellipse, swings sounds in unrecord’d shapes;
Chokecherries marble blue rivulets
In snow with a forming crackle glaze.

It’s no closer to gesture a hydrologic card
Shaping yard, or what was called a garden.
Cubless, cubical segments levitate into state-
Hood. Robes wave, sway ruler’s taste
For subjecthood & its inverse, subjects
Of kingdom chosen dumb drunk on power
But who in their incomprehensible scale
& idiocy makes, even of God’s chosen, objects.
It is that he must die that power’s lent.
As in the courtyard, playing nice in tarpaulin's
Payne’s grey shadow, cerulean zeros of
neptune’s winds in a circumlocution,
A Harmonia's notes in a ledger predicted to be
Lost. Totality on totality of suffering
But in each case a singularity, never
replicated nor cloned—the joinery
Links planks, continent, driving abstractions,
Split wakes, generative wounds touched
Beyond quanta or T, ignored, recast—in
This manner. A distant lens dabs Parisian
Floribunda heightens incommensurable legacy,
Like fascism achieving retro-hip.

Names hold just enough dust of a world’s
Layer’d nebulae to reweave wreathèd crown.
It’s offer’d at last, spearmint-cold, dis-
Passionate, zero-degree subjecthood
Award’d &, better yet, witness’d by young 
Morticians to be. They, too, attend to atom, to
Thallium’s green sapling sprig. The transcendental
Body completes upon its destruction.

These the early-stage phases where fun runs
Of guns irrigated neighbors you tried to kill.

The console’s full. Models, arranging stage
Elongating gait too slack for dramatic acts
Or higher-order wins of wrought witticism. It
Should soothe; its topical tocopherol sheen
Not just a gleam it penetrates layers deep.

The tonic offers a return to relative 
Tonal constituents situated within its scale

Only. Nylon fibers on loan; then reach for
Prybar, like a screed peel back midsection,
Scour scalar tissue carbonized on pyres
Multiplying stalks geo-satellitically planted
In exact fulfillment of the model’s predictive
Capacity. It eclipses what biological beings
Can do by orders of magnitude, it leaves
 
Neons puncturplasmic matter, hollows
Out of whose awl’d-out flues iridesce—,

Too-cool choreography regard’s wind drifts
Skirmish near a rink on whose surface dis-
Embodied skates notate integral regression,
Curvature’s circles adrift but caught, a pre-
Textual figure which doubles as exegesis of
The Prussian blue husk dying to be given speech.

Of those first fins fann’d out in rays, of spans
Uneven intervals spread without coordination,
Betraying choreographer’s fleece hung &
Hov’ring above rocking crib, crisp
Oyster enamel lowers a brow, lunar
Lumen shed from mama’s raspy kumbaya,—

None of these appear in the pyramid.—

Spectral rivets of barometric machinery
Wrench no when from then to now.

On rust’d tractor, dream fields, long shuck’d,
Emerge from tall grass vertebral, cold
Blood, viscous epoxy harden’d to resin.

The open field is treat’d to a trillionth
Vivisection even though it holds birds in 
Some upper chamber’s reaches.

Dioxazine violet after-glaze on the blacktop
But the very mimicry of precision creates
the tentative, yes, overwhelming sense
Of dioxazine's phonemics as its only body
Cadmium late gold light latter a matter
Of a sequence of predictable pieces, hitch'd
To trunk or hunk of a winch on a bed.

Garfield street, old curses curing on
Giant douglas fir needles. Their military
Scansion unmasked blushing settlers,
Learning they were false firs, missing
Camas flowers & Gary oaks, like the
Metabolism for conifers already flower'd
In digestive formaldehyde. Soup of
Covetous futurities doomed to deployment
On base in history books. Lasic + plastics.

Can’t tell if radiation emerges from black-—
Top’s violets & prussian blues slap wet elasticities
Or if it, passing beyond obvious solarities, opens
Another kind of frequency or tension, like its absor-
tion is another kind of space or plasmic medium

Allowing vibrations to move but something
Infinite, without end, with infinite rhythmic
& tonal combinations, a capacity that makes
Light matter less than darkness & matter itself,
Though even when the code is followed to a
Juncture, the coordinates of which the model
Provided & were faithfully pegged, what moral
Construct emerges from quantity, angle, win-
dowsil’s weeping aloes that muster hellos
To the enemies, marked by tongue’s malform—
Eh, son, I’d say to him had or were I to have
One, but the words would drop off an orange
Pulp would run out my nose if at the time
I was with another being, they would leave.

But damn it would be easy to love one’s child.
Point at mapped nexus of star’s contract
Give in perpetuity; or if in a kind of tug of war
It's got dioxazine all wrong—it was that alizarin
Crimsons were so igniting the deep-black
Prussian blues, & this pressure push'd instinct-
ively against faded yellow curb detail curves,
Leprosaic paint chips making an impression
For the skin-organ suits manning the reels,
Stamped with unrecoverable grid-boards
Pegged patterns, interstices of substances
& violas lent, the strangeness of the dead.
Out at the shop next to a tattoo parlor & a
TV repair station with units display'd

Though foot traffic made odd hours blue.
Gigs. The formation’s defined by con-
Tact, eliciting a chain. Chains, blocks,
Sequences, linkages, relations, ships, inks,
Histories, fibers, fluids, tongues, stories, sounds—
The lot of it goes in the forge in preparation
For the red giant ceremonies.
It’s a like saying, a meter to music's
A thing to which biota returns to another biota.
After many millennia of working it through
Its many chambers, so tortuous, so effete,
Limited in ways, back then, went ignored,—
But just so there's a mathematical shift
In the trail to lose it, to put things on a lift.

Debauchery born of a need to ritualize
That which succeeds fertility rituals;
Implosive collapse holds collective attention.
It begins, red giant ceremonies, with
Excavators & escalators.
Ski lifts & forbidden trees. Exoskeleton
Husks, tusks, turn-around jumpers, re-
Verse plays employing misdirection
Before laying off the figure, its fuel.

The memento mori will
Drag its gown across the velvety promenade
Leaving stories of a far-flung foxtail
Burning a thousand gradients bright,
It's a loom, long retired. In essence
The remainder, the only thing one
Tells another, is a story about the disappearance
Without knowing it is such. Astral
The striation of waves already dissipated but
Traveling through confounding delays,
Through medium no longer even
Thought to be playing in
The same time signature or in
The same voluminous space.

Leo Wyatt is a painter, poet, educator, & founder of The Stout Industrial Co. Leo's homeless & lives in Denver at work on a ms. of poems & paintings.

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