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3 POEMS Matt Reeck |
EBN This is a recording of the Emergency Broadcast Network The way to Never Never Land goes through here. O things make sense if you hammer them into your head:
__ MY BLACK SUIT
The mahouts gathered round the rock candy
TREATISE FOR THE ELECTION OF SPIRITS × 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.
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