the INLAID EAR

Do you want to put your hand on my belly and feel it kicking? I am glowing with its near-complete gestation, not dreading the labor of its arrival but aching with the anticipation, the slowness of its slow coming. I am blissed out with impatience. I am popping! The book! The book! Early Cover Concept by Eric Lindsey

this is how I feel about the book project  * * * I WANT it! I can't stop looking at it. I study its shape and odor and size as though expecting it any moment to shift, change, vanish, explode. If flung, I will go after and get it on the first bounce. If hidden, I will sniff where last seen until it's revealed. If held, I will continue to stare up, my whole face quivering, my whole body poised to, to, to I focus on how I will chew it, how I will lick into its very essence and the directories of its pieces, the threads that tie it up to the rest of what is keeping me away right now. I will free the cloudy stuff inside it, the piece of its core that makes the sounds. I will fling the disassembled unity into the air in a new broader unity — like the big bang — and roll in all the stuff that flies around artfully scattered, array all around me, panting in utter joy that smells like triumph.

Buckle the seatbelt of your mind: we’re blasting off.             Nod to Charles Stross Physical encryption in linguistic code—books and the like—obsolesced within six millennia. Pressings of music took a century and a half between becoming and becoming extrinsic. A microgram of matter may contain the complete recorded works of Mozart. We send our abstract designs in advance of ourselves: when more matter is made smart, we will be data; and protoplasmic expression can recycle as an art. Physical selves will be irrelevant, but we—our biomass long discarded— can stretch out in a spacious petabyte, recombining to the edge of finite, expanding the boundaries of “the present,” surviving our sun’s fated extinction.

In a place where people expect their dreams to come true, I’m China street glucose, and you’re endless grass and a huge, flat moon. In plaster and wood on the other side, I’m the cardturner, and you’re writing in my sun room. In a Rocky Mountain city, Denver or Salt Lake, I’m naked in the street, and you’re gazing into a green valley from a peak. In the arms of my love, I’m gloriously broken, and you’re a nap to Fremont and back. In my favorite bakeries and places to hike I’m Nebraska, and you’re sprout palm welcome. In invitation, in difference, in membership, in suffering, I’m mother, diamonds, life, and you’re home. In this studio, part monster, I’m petite fours made into a city, and you’re silver curls like a crown. In wabi sabi dance party, I’m golden lush shrouded jewel, and you’re black lava blue water brown. In the most expensive, beautiful, confuzzled place on the planet, I’m $6 Great American, and you’re the same…. In a particular spot I’m ears like cabbage leav...

First—the claims made Second—the grounds on which it is recommended Third—it does not come asunder Fourth—it has been analyzed by Eminent Scientists Fifth—its VALUABLE PROPERTIES never become impaired Sixth— it is recommended by Eminent Physicians and Scientific Men Seventh—its use cannot be detected Eighth— it may be desired Ninth— hundreds of dollars uselessly expended may be saved Tenth— it is safe, simple, cleanly and never injures Eleventh— it may be applied WITH EQUALLY GOOD RESULTS Twelfth—by its use impurities vanish Thirteenth—it is harmless, costs little and saves money Fourteenth—ever vouchsafed to womankind, famous ladies use it from Jones, Edgar R. “1887 Print Advertisement for Madame Rowley’s Toilet Mask or Face Glove.” Those Were the Good Old Days; a Happy Look at American Advertising, 1880-1930 . New York: Simon and Schuster, 1959. 41. Print. *** I am participating in Poetry Month Scouts, hosted by the Found Poetry Review. So this month: lots...