The Mortal Enemies of Calculation
admit bouquets to the effigy party
be a dapper knapsack… dapper knapsacker
only authenticate the forgettable
your bookshelves are frail
rattlesnake them all
mechanically bemoan that… wait…
combine Dionysus with hoarding badgers,
then mechanically bemoan that combination
The theory of dyadic rings
A buried UFO slowly
turns my Digital Pen
into a 7-track down-
load of a Wolfmother
album, but this counts
for nothing when it’s
sunny in South London
& the streets are full
of highly trained Re-
whose white linen suits
& owlish spectacles
add old-world warmth
& charm to a great
place to stop thinking
about digital identity.
Black & white movies. The March of Time. Backwards. dubesoR. Snow globes down the stairs, the Odessa Steps. Everything intercut, reality / invention. Once again I walk down those ornate baroque corridors, knowing I know nothing of Hiroshima.
Always in black & white. No room for scenic shots. None of those except perhaps as signposts. Otherwise. Film noir.
Color. Occasionally. Kurosawa’s The Ransom. One scene only. In which.
Do I pay the ransom? Do I let the color in?
Music: Number Five
Some stories are tagged with photos of juveniles,
their animals, their yellow images, Tom and Dick,
and preposterous townsfolk who venerate Canada,
though not during March, nor in meetings
of Gamblers Anonymous, as the workers have said.
So, no more information about the river is necessary.
Regarding its vexed course, nobody is in agreement
except for the existence, somewhere down there,
of the underworld, its dry rats, its vestibules,
the blindfolded walks that guide you to the edge.