| ICON CITY AS FARM FORM
*
Those icons are hunched
little items, or the footprints
of a square cat; blocks
to build a tiny house with, signatures
of some Osaka
woodcut virtuoso,
one who is intent on
being many....
*
To the message
Thank you for using
WinComm I am
required, it appears,
to reply--and no way else but
just OK. Or else. (Or else
Im stuck in there forever:
its a WC nightmare - - and I don't mean
Fields - - if youre used
to choosing words.) Thank you, you
vacancy. Up
yours.
*
To the implied
requirement Declare
your love he is required
(by nature) to demur. But Im another kind
of necessity, and the only demurral
Ill abide is that
of constancy. I.e.
no demurral at all. A kind
of kinship debt-dream: hot-wired
from the first. (And I dont
means yields.)
*
My first impulse is to call
those two propositions unlike.
For one compels
a soul to empty speech, whereas the other...
Then my second impulse
kicks in, and it tells
me: shut the mother-
coupler up.
*
There is no comfort,
ever, in this life.
The mind can make
a hothouse of the body.
There is no death
here either. Only dying. And the body
makes a mind its major
term.
*
The chord
is shut, the shard
interred; the swords a noun
instructing us to soften. Bachs
box: an elegy for C drive.
*
If I never move
my heavy self again
Ill drive some auto toward
some semblances of same.
*
O bile! I owe you
all my music, half my life.
You greened and blackened me,
you loamed and guanified. Youve tried
my metals, and Ive thrived wee ways. One a day
is not enough. O bile,
I need 2/3.
*
The modems noise
has come to comfort me.
Soon Ill connect.
*
O bps! How like
the derogators version
(bips and bleeps) you are.
*
On AOL there werent any more
of my names left.
None of my first,
and none of my second.
AOL suggests I call myself
McDugald 7000. I demur.
*
Warm boot: a consolation for
cold foot.
*
How intimate it seems, this new
e-literation. And yet
how vast it is, beyond the ken
of former (formest)
conversations,
magazines.
O formiculture! You breed ants.
© Heather McHugh
|