01 June 2007

Featured Poet: Simon DeDeo

Simon DeDeo is a scientist and poet. He lives in the Hyde Park neighbourhood of Chicago, Illinois. He edits rhubarb is susan and co-edits absent magazine, where he has written on anarchist poetics. His work appears in Gut Cult, Moria, Shampoo and Typo, among other places, and is forthcoming in the horseless review.


The Ø-dimensional King
(the Executive's apostrophe to his Secretary)

The ecopoetical world -- the pale blue dot
the doggrel of language, self-limited visible,
O O O that . . .

phenomenal sensation, this blue machine
to be all eliminated tout suite,
what a put-in-wonderful tremulous

mind convergent! Those salad grammars,
fractictious murderous all-plain-burning
caesuras at the center of the mind.

Who will sing this fragile computing thing?
Step in to my office as into the filtered
light of the transaction, the pattered

expressions of wealth on wealth on wealth.
I hurry papers to their destination and you
my gorgeous courier, my lesbian amanuensis

take desire on desire from my bleeding nails.
Do you think of me -- when you think of me --
as a perihelion? As a slow glissando into fire,

a recalcitrant memory or two burnt on entry
into my corona, but no matter : the drive
to be understood, Love, is satisfied here

by the passing of bills, the marking-up,
the tracklights over my wife and fiancée
scraping garlic from the press in Schamburg.

Mind! That very world is like a toll,
a scansion of the table, elaborate
molecular residue on the combine blade

of the Business Community. Scan this desk, cast
one knee-high stockinged leg across the green,
green world. I live

in mutuality, I am the docent of the fiducial
pathway to a woman's heart like yours,
I am large enough to contain the desire

you do not pass. Do you enjoy to shop?
Michigan Avenue, what does it not contain,
what fictions can't it sell, what Borges

grows unknown behind its counters? It is
a man's hand on yours now, as we look -- Look
towards the rising Sun beyond the Lake,

beyond the reach of man as you will never be,
satellite -- of love, yes, of bone --
persistent pattern in the water of my eye.

And then, what end? In marriage or in death
surpassed by capital, one languorous anorexic thought,
this wealth of now, this long, long, dragging skirt.


©copyright 2007 Simon DeDeo

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