Matt Reeck


This is a recording of the Emergency Broadcast Network

The way to Never Never Land goes through here. 
You sleep while I try to draw in breath. On the back
of the program how it happens when you lose track of your mind. 

O things make sense if you hammer them into your head:
yesterday I killed off everyone & today I'm looking for friends. 





The mahouts gathered round the rock candy
& crystal meth. First it was a book
now it's a word. You wanted stockings
but got a stockyard full of tsetse flies. Fly away,
Aspartame, fly away, Filling Station. Before they entered
the city, the ukulele players got a pat-down.
All throughout Appalachia, the old-timers
didn't give a damn about the folklorists come with black boxes
to distribute coal and DVDs of classic WWII movies.
Not a long way to go now. People who believe in god
& people who don't are equal to me. I do Pilates in a brass cage
until my eyes run dry.




Here at the Metaphysics Conference, I lost my diagram in transit, went back over the river-road.

There was nothing. Wept.

Nothing divulges the way a flood does.

People were all around me. I don't deny their perfume.


The second question was Tuesday. (Strike that.)

I got out of bed and had to deal with circularity.

I excavated finely.

Circumambulation of the Globe on Fire, now that's a window I'd like to jump through.


The pretense was presence.

Just about then the panther returned to the swamps of private Florida.

A flu or phloem spread over the panhandle of Oklahoma.

It's this way for the transmigration of the soul. [Sic.]


She kept at her blank-stare response-syndrome.

She terminated the telegram with endearments and kisses.

I didn't vouchsafe anything.

The universe revolves on truancy.




"Treatise" was written after reading some Noah Eli Gordon & thinking about driving through rural Pennsylvania. EBN should really be EBS -- the Emergency Broadcast System—that which announced tornados & inclement weather to young, impressionable boys in the Midwest.