by Greg Baysans





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Corps

 

(excursion du corps grand)


"The visions and celestial sounds invoked 
in theurgies were perceived with the 
spirit-body’s organs. And it is in this 
vehicle of imagination that the soul meets 
the gods." - Leonard George, on Iamblichus



Work


These walls exude furnace heat.
And beyond? A room to inhabit. We don
suits, state-of-the-art super-resistance.

The place furnished, exquisite
down to the green of books, red
walls, yellow sofa, blue serving set.

A plain room until a worker enters
when walls become Roccoco candy,
pulse at his every movement.

Piece work, the green book to keep tally 
of gristly balls with black pattern, random, 
exact, followed by violet. One. Two.

Three. That will never be enough.
The room is remade for another
task, the next green book's motif.




Dusk


Spiders crawl on dusty cobwebs
that have their own cobwebs. Sounds
occur as dull memories heard

on a radio station
and far away, a station
you'd rather not listen to but

only one is coming in well
water curtain clapboard clipboard
happenchance passersby fly.




Velocity


Another room, this place a drinking
straw at times, a bulging universe
wide, safety-netlessly indescribable,

impossible to set to a sudoku frame
or poem penetrates an apple in
and out the same peach seven times

two continuing tubes past ignoring yet en-
compassing drive-in chapels and books
on tape. Just in that straw tube, say

hay straws in a stack, not at all 
concerned with the needles therein,
but with impending Beethoven.




Sugar


Molecules churn, sharp darkness,
the vision seen soon made
an antebellum scene twisting

taste closing in on destruction
in the middle of night, moonlight
before and after the snake

crowd unseen coming in in the dark
vastness endless and as soon made
mythic vision whirling in the maze

of fatalism, falling forward down stairs
unseen in repeated dark bubbles
unnatural and unknown in number.




Flood


The story of the room forgotten,
transcription impossible when
there's no storm to tell except

the whole cosmology painted 
onto veils in words, a lay guide 
to theurgy leading to inclusion.

Film school splices the lecture
given green pause. It is not the story
of obfuscation is an astral favorite

food, atom, element, combi-
nation too seldom intelligent, but
with hands tied now and again

a room in consternation, throw in love
then not enough chalk stuffings 
rough, astride an eggplant elephant.




Muscle


The complex is as large as air
in a jar of marbles, but only air
and not the space filled by

marbles, misshapen air
curves and arcs irregularly
regular curving, complex air

in a jar of marbles, regular size
or irregular, air marbles curve and
arc, irregularly forgotten what

started in a complex air jar of
not marbles but large loops
irregularly curve arcs in only air.




Flat


Here a vast plateau, bleak and barren, arid, empty, endless,
the only sign of activity holes in the sandlike floor made by
hordes of dreadful machines, worms of ultimate essence.

And imaginary sunshine in oppressive shovelfuls,
heat increasing though intolerable long before, time
not a part of the picture nor relief, only distance and dearth,

an utter lacking, limitless, colorless, silent, incessant landscape
without ease, idea, water, weight, dimension or sense except
the vibration of mechanic worms and purposeless burrowing.




Vision


Not four walls but a star chamber --
hundreds of points in every direction
describe infinity is at last a math

thing things, ping pings, blip blips
on a radar screen screens four-dimen-
sional, flashes of electricity the only

light in the place illuminating furtive
circuitry, secretive wiring, clandestine
connections, mysterious meetings

attended by spies of the highest 
spiritual order plotting miraculous
tomorrows and tinkering with yester-

days' endless shooting, floating
heiroglyphics and indeciferable sound,
a fall into Icarus's deep, inviting sea.




Persistence


Fact bluffs of sandstone or lime
in layers fall infinitely. So it seems 
because the falling is constant

rock breaking into ever smaller rock
guitar heard first by the refrigerator
is in a forest alley being passed by

mere camel dissonance, hip wounds,
a drumbeat in dread black as memory.
Night is a paved hill and bleeding

challenge to climb, antique frogs to argue,
hate-psalms brimming with questions
masquerading as fact bluffs of sandstone.




Play


Choices: nude, costumes, body paint,
any or all, any and all, all and the gamut
involved in the amphitheater here,

large as a balloon's inside stretched
bigger than the moon, overgrown with
vines and ivy, vivid pantaloons, a room

not for children but a circus and car-
nival rolled into one tent, three tents, seven
rings, four leaf clovers and over and

over the same not the same ride and no 
waiting lines but purples and oval versions
of candycane Egyptian soap hurricane

raining sweetness, coins and churling 
smoke, unforgettable orchestras, lucid 
rainbows crash, waves of ecstasy 

splash over the same not circus circuit
urchins and versions of icing-clad permanent
play unexpected as that sinister cloud's clown.




Shop


A white room with mud stains
on the floor and tire tracks, sink
holes, so there's a road for certain

corners and corridors and more choices
than green or red or yellow lights. Here
there's purple, magenta, mauve, silver,

gold leaf on the furniture and picture
frames, uncountable billions, enough to
completely cover walls, so you can't

really see that it's a white room but 
when the sun falls you discern watermelon
felon plastic, an acid version of vision.





Closure


Broken eggs, the mess albumin, cumin
everywhere, a rolling barn dance, never a chance
mention of adventure nor sensational

cereal accusations commonplace sunlight
answers, echo streams in e-mail for cement snow
weather changes, those eggs again, a Halloween

mask broken spell that, and that fits too, lies
lonesome in some angel glory found
and lost at the grace gloss halftime

score known days before dinosaurs could
have tramped there, trampled there, trampled
their progeny littering atheist orange groves

humanely harvested of clues amid morning dews
and free to pay to choose your poison pen letter
to be read on stage by (insert your name here).


   

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