The Vision of Error

1.

Prelude.

Artificial life created on a typewriter?A poetics of abomination.I watch a twist of barkroll a length in a gust of wind,distance approximately that betweenmy wrist and elbow. In measuringto the smallest division of the ruler,I replace the symbolic with the precise: after all,whole mountain chains are given to sciencewhich makes its own profits, its own borders.

The sprouts from tree limbs that might become branchesbut often die off even when they appearto have got going.

Grabbed by the throat.

Short-lived diversions, re-routings, amulets.And when limbs branch and the branch prospersit seems expected. More living than coded.Origins are shared in market nichesfor 'organics'.

Seven stresses in a line create a non-chronological history:

Do not have language do not write language. Less language less.Enrolled in Eine Kleine Nachtmusik is no night, or only night:no catch-all though all history to come. Prophecy.

Serenades are generictricksters.Resting, cases. Only lawsyou want not of: some daysthose scars glow and you contraryeverything, most things at least. Reaction.

If included, statistics for guns manufactured (universal, truism)people killed by guns manufacturedmilitary ordnance in all forms: stats of conqueststats of 'defence', oppressionand repression and converts to pacifism?Or say 'okay' and then glaze over.

There is no space for visionary anythingand the politics of dissolution is new comfort,new pleasure, a new plan.

2.

Religion is a technology.

And when Mum gets back from Greece we'll see her riot footagefrom outside her hotel window: unpack that, three dead in bank building and Delphi still speaking to all of us who 'happen by':this Europe: a prophecy, this Europe a vision, this who linksto which painting;          to preserve the status          or control currency, shared heritage,          mythology God-fear absence;                    Marcus Aurelius?Liberty.

      'Strong impulses are another name for energy'                    and thisis where the stats for the energy industries mightbe inserted,shining lights, O better eyesight.

                Prosody is compliance.Prosody is comfort.            Understanding: nullifier of liberty.

So let's talk dissolution:            what leaves catch on            when the westerly blows            hard, catachresis: falls back            to be picked up by a lighter            breeze in a different way: the red            ant sways and is blown away as well, 'meat            ants': 'redskins' they say: marches: formic            trails, this valley, cross-windsare common: wars of ant empires: facts: disclosure. What would MasterSun say? Stick to the walls        of valley, reach down          to strike an enemy, neverupwards.                Peace-loving in lexicons of history: comparisonsthey say are odious.

3.

Rain

Rain. Loaded word, also not language. In the bitter dryscorings on hillside—a boot scuff, even a roo scratchingmeans a departure point for run-off, for torrent, for forkinglimbs of water, arterial markings of the block-body;                        nisi prius,so much said locally about every drop that falls, accumulatesin the rain gauge: or, here, buckets catching the entire sky,monochrome with clearing;

              investment in fences, swing of gate            on gateposts reiteration of ideal,          of sympathy: half-life is favoured by large eyes            and animal selves, as we declare: we, local,      on local on local, algorithms of self, and those          who concern us: the cellular computer to imitate      the human capacity for ignorance: wunderbar! that terrain      again and obsession with heights to rain all manner      of artillery down upon, Sun Tzu, again: original mistake of art    and attention;            the world dwells flat.

Such a rush of water. Such rain. GuttersI cleaned mid-deluge, cutting wristson corrugated iron like a biscuitcutter, those perfect wavesin flesh still spill wherenew house joins oldand rivets only pullworlds only soclose together.Water changeseverything.

Fog. My body osmoted in fog.And part of it budded like yeast.Part replicated by cell-division.

I like to be exposed to the wet caul, collectingdank morningswood to light a difficult fire: to be insidethe beauty those even higher might see,wondering what it...