christopher stackhouse

 

SIGNAL 1

 

 

Simulacra, scrud, compendium

Nathaniel Hatchet, crud, Ferguson-

Skull contented satellites smear

two ponies. Smear.

 

Fitzgerald, Kaufman, Patchen

Cracker in the fire starter

nigger in the mud. Turn left.

Drawn impotent cartoons.

 

Someone left a drill in the yard.

The bit is rusty and the motor fails

who called again asking for an Aphorism.

The shoulder has none.

 

Go east. Drink yogi. Buddha flower.

The floral bouquet of her Chardonnay

costs twenty dollars to eat

every day if it’s cheap, I’ll have some

 

Scallion pancake Grasshopper.

Guinea ghost in the machine. Now.

Say Ghost Dog. Say Sitting Bullshit.

Say engine, make Whitman say ow! Say ho!

 

America, America, you cross-dressing plumber

minimal radio player. Lucid dream.

Canterbury wannabe. Go build a prison

in Rome for your forgetful populace

 

the guinea boat nigger with the chinky eyes.

Perfection is a soft round ass. said. stayed

firm at any age I stand resolved and right

pickle. circle. fetish. wondering.

 

A blunt object. The staggering masses

all wearing the same shoes. Abandoned.

Entities, there is no countryside here—

just the feverish shuffling of paper,

 

the Zen motif of the train tracks

speeding greenly along. Where does it go—

robots selling whores using up the gas.

caveats. secretaries. diplomats of the damned.

 

A new sentence coming readily

oracular, vocabular, verbal, written

the road conveys a voluptuary cadence.

pastoral. rebellious. willing to kiss you

 

willing to break your heart for the money

if there was any worth in money. I would buy you

an interpreter of love, lust, detachment.

I would become that dispassionate murderer.

 

But there is only the cruel unnameable

notion that moves beneath this gesture

what poised to offer remits shelter,

gives its attention faithfully measured

 

to me, the tall building in the small city,

the man sitting alone in his house

surrounded by the details that matter,

thinking ahead about the circuitry

 

and the fenestrae of the structure, how

the light refracts through the bending glass,

how the wind enters and leaves, the water ripples,

what it would mean to me if I were building it.