13 March 2014

Featured Poet: Roberto Harrison

plural consciousness

not this face
and its cohort, a body

and the face has many minds—
the countable and the uncountable and empty strings “”

it walks beyond the mountains
where there are others in that desert panorama

so removed from space. and the pain of split eyes
and of being more than one

and of switching to build on Origins
of the certain acausalities of a plural consciousness

an entire people of profiles
of computer parts and sounds and a throbbing Light

primordial and far before
is the unintentional truth [on the ground]

known to the lesions
perplexed by questions of the feed

and by the other lines. and for that reason
their body cannot balance itself on the enormous neuter egg

and never sleeps in flight. but the blindness
gets planted with sunfish and shoveled into ossified domes

and it becomes a horror and a random seed()
of the submerged and Unit ear

and cannot be dreamed about with its rabbits
as those minds have left the body asleep and apart

and now are separated by many Starts
attached by a single strand

invisible sinew. it becomes,
the body becomes

a husk for the colors of corn
a putrefied husk with a smile of the bus

as its afterimage
and a sorrow of the bus

as its frontal lobe. it moves with a black rat
snake and separates the other animals

so that they too shrivel
and become like the muted clouds

not of this terror. this body becomes
indistinguishable from the jungles, and the news of the frond

welcomes its poverty. it moves beyond the landscape
and desires itself to be one (and a two-toed Sloth)

of the planes for which the word becomes less
and more than light. it dissolves to portray its anti-subjects

like the animals of long ago, and it witnesses itself
become cybernetically unified. but this is only a question

without symbol. it moves to be antecedent to the imagination
but is not recognized as such, it submerges

its most horrifying trees into a lesser season and drought
of correction and comfort. it realizes

its evils must be seen and felt, and so, on that day
it becomes mineral, and moves to be a putrefied aspect of wholeness

in being skewered. and no word can place it with others
because its muteness revolves around its own Sea

and it becomes the question for answers, and the answer for questions,
but nothing more. and this body equates itself with the earth

in its seismic and sharp attributions, in its lessening waters, in each
expression another form of syzygy. it often weeps in its thoughts

without a body, and it smiles in weird ways
that betray the weather, and it says things and does things

that it no longer recognizes. this body is softened with its minds,
and its horrors were turned into fragrances and tanned leather

by the many cyber seeds of the Mound. it cannot understand
its own secrets, and it cannot see the metropolis of a wound

that it knows it is. and one day La Tulivieja
will become synchronized so as to harvest

the sun’s healing and destructive powers, so it aggravates
the soils of a home for more plants, and the jungle then resists

that its panoplies and layers dissolve the rails
of the trains of the wrong, and that they service the master

of interior regions, so confused by the chieftain
of harvest and loons on the days that wear away

the soft electrocutions of the everyday. the chieftain absorbs
the windowed necropolis where his people, and those of the she-world

witness and absorb decay. the wanderers of this interior
force the crisp attention of the less than life

to warm each possible response to the raiders of the trains
and the wind of this plural consciousness which arrives

with the marks of the page to undo the only light and the only count(*)
of this region for the lost, in this equated reverse of completion

where someone ashes the counts of another rain to absorb their light
and their darknesses, in the less than bought and more than free

which witnesses the end of number, and absorbs all the marks
of the Chooser of absence and orphanhood. in their attached body trance

someone absorbs La Tulivieja with hir Intermediate Areas
and (s)he becomes just a knot, and this is a word to absorb the interior’s climate

on that holiday of sorts where the weather rises, and where (s)he, the invisible one 
comes to me to remind me of my erasure. this song of erasure

does not count for your afterimage in the less than countable rite
of mythologies and reference. do you feel the attachment of this soft song?

where I am not I, in this weather of promise and recursions
that decays and absorbs each of our numerous

corporations in the wonder world of executions and the council fire
so gigantic and guarded by the others. they are moving

in this desertion to unwind the releasing tense of the door. to unwind
the approach of their targets         to renumber their attack

and place hold the skin service. they do not want
their only council with their only chieftain to be a part of the smoke

that each holds for the heart of the isthmus, that new service
that attaches itself to each consciousness, so divided and One and not Two and ~~~~~~~

ritual number. they wear away the programs of cascading sides
and they pick the service of the trains to amount to the ride of the dispossessed

those wretched that the chieftain had become and was and now…. but the putrefied sweetness
of the bees no longer attends to the animals as they grow so wild. on that day

with the sun at its warmest we ride to the western mountains of a digital
oblivion, one more attenuation and one more cross of those counted wings. they know

by their hair that the wolves approach from the east and that they understand winter
in its back and forth connection of truth evaluations. those bruises never stop that pattern

as the gift of life does not endure the seasonal demands on our numbering
smoke. there is no plural there. it heals itself as the body of Moons

except when it is lost in a self. that endures for something
erased but not worn in this element, a long and numinous husk of each origin’s fire

resumes and attends to it, more than measure

number name

     for Daniel Borzutzky

one moved
and then a finger appeared. a leg, a torso

one moved again
and then someone called from far away. it rang in the water

formed like the lights of offering
more people knew more languages and they flew

one sentence
and then two sentences. their faces wavered

and a whole country was mute. they offered their voices
to roll upon the earth and confront the ships.

once, they went nowhere. their approach to the Sun
was given in steps. the network of stars

would not amount to service or to the lines of amputation
as they emerged from the earth. and they saw

that someone held the innocent. but experience
would not hold to a single self. the screen

of afterimages would amend and portray the lost herds
for the reasons that silence would absolve, for the amount of people

that they serviced in the daylight. bodies were formed that spoke
secretly, in the trees. their mute literatures covered the ashes

of their dead. they said that they were not persons
and so the law did not pertain to them. they moved like the light

but no one understood the anguish
of personhood. their mute literatures would be brought up

by vicious dogs. they did not understand
the news. their fear transformed them

beyond facial recognition, beyond all security.
once, they throttled and amounted to the aims

of services. their bombs would not attach the spirit
to their monumental fires. they learned from the flesh

and they knew the warmth of the straw. they were one in the time
of offering. their books would attend to the cracks

in the ground. their songs would seek others more
than they were sought. they did not have feelings

because they could not trust. once, there were others.
their laughter moved the animals and the animals

sang to them in homage, secretly. they were always together
with the animals. they once again would free themselves

from the world. they knew more songs and they revealed the ashes
that grew to their hunger. they arrived to the other worlds

as this one stopped. they moved with the wishes
of their infancy. they were once like the Turing machines

of deception. they danced the fear away and they knew that someone
would one day be fearless among them and change them all for that.

once, they reasoned that their minds were like blankets, a warming
of the flesh, and their minds radiated heliocentrically beyond the moon,

and they stood at the surface of the Sea, and they moved with the Oceans
to endure the earth of cogitations and the earth of motionlessness.

they received the others and they announced to themselves that they would learn
to speak as the light speaks. they moved to be there like one was

and they counted among the numbers

© Copyright 2014 Roberto Harrison