Lytton Smith

The world is interspersed with sundries—                   
typewriter ribbon, signage, superhero,
schoolhouse, agriculture—and one body
attracts a smaller body. The sphere rolled
accumulates and your idea of the possible
expands. Anything of capital is in your reach.
The conquested mountain. Nth wonder.
Rain and its cloud foundations. This law
the world follows is rolled up in turn.






A note on the piece (I'm trying to refrain from over-excitedly writing an essay on this, especially given the brevity of the poem...) Katamari is the Japanese for "clump" or "clod," and this poem began with tranquil hours playing the 2004 video game Katamari Damacy ("Clump Spirit," literally) in which you roll an orb or sorts around several human environments, from homes to gardens to towns to the Earth, rolling up objects. The more objects you roll up the larger the objects you can roll up: you start by picking up thumbtacks and caramels and progress through kitchen knives and beach balls to houses and the Easter Island figures to whole islands and then the moon. Oh, and there's a King and a Prince and...maybe you'd best watch it [here]. Then go and roll me a cow (that's someone's breakfast milk, don't y'know) or a hurricane, land-headed, or the military junta controlling Burma. If you've a spare moment.