Shrivel: dark heart of dark


This is the chain that I have dug up from a stanza from ryan fitzpatrick "A Sparrow's Song" in Fake Math. It reads in part like a syntagm carrying a transformation through the static. Here it is in its setting:

Yet, as Frost says, fuck choice, let freedom
race. Noice. Our sparrow lobs grenades at
glasnost — an 80's relic — instead it's Star Wars,
global spread of, and bottled coffee. Noise.
In Dolby or THX, hear nipples rub over
polyurethane, weather stripping over poise.
This is a far cry from the suave and sensuous renderings of other passages in fitzpatrick (including his edgy lyrics inspired by advertising calls to action — they propel). See this stanza from "The Dark Heart" where "poem stands" operate like groups of trees out of Ashbery...
Yet the poem stands pollute, stumbles to the dark
heart of dark amidst a fleet of tin canoes, brilliant
sugar maples craft a landscape of wide-eyed chocolate
wrappers. Private sawdust soaks up crops. Orchards
vanish into picture books. Propellers vent family farms
into tight designer jeans. Landfills, rotation act,
industrial waste percussion, signification bottlenecks
brainwaves; work of all wordplay: codeplay.
Indeed there are :signification bottlenecks:

A hint on how to assemble some of the more disjunctive parts is presented by Shelley Woods reporting on poetry and play with a Rubick's Cube. Swivelling my way to clarity. Hers is a different poem but the procedure is suggestive for other contexts: chop and re-sequence.


And so for day 1317