Rupert sheldrake pontificates on evolution and the human propensity for narcissism while trapped temporarilly, until the nitrous oxide wears off, in the 14th dimension, which is comprised mostly of fiberglass insulation with little air bubbles.
We are the residual
interest built up over
gravity's aeons the
exudation of great
speckled bird's felt
pleasure—sunlight
translated into
unraveled oceans
of dynamic
transcendent thought...
Dropped from deep within
bowels scarred by bone crusts,
stone biscuits, crescent-hooked
moons of tooth-rows, swallowed
fishnets of entire aquatic
regions—to remember life
once one has been preserved
as calcified mineral discharge,
what first came out of a dinosaur's
anus reconstituted as a coprolite.
To be born in steel inanimate
now gleaming shark-tails
pregnant with myriad carnivore
bone-piles of still-born thoughts;
what began as a memory
of an atrocity—the insolent
silence of nature's quotidian
tyrannies—transmutes as if
from some enzymatic dance
deciphered by pheromone-saturated
ass-gland shimmy of a single honey
bee lost in mind's reservoir of
interconnected mundane choices.
This gestalt—shiny mutant baby—
whose magnetic placental discharge
now executes the unlikely choice
become first coy shadow
vented by wet muted
light from infant dreams.
Now cloud banks will
rearrange themselves across
an infinite spectrum of shapes
amidst the broad shorelines
of grown self's colossal ocean
and innumerable beasts; the still
glowing discharge of a barely
remembered primeval idea—the
apparent accident that spawned a
city-turned-galaxy of unprecedented
forms—we are really now all of
these things in the lightning
heat-blast that speaks
through us when meat dreams.
In later days we
Stave off fears of inner
dissolution dancing
like the flower-garlanded
medieval wanderers
who evaded the plague
through a spinning yolk
of constant movement
in a human circle of
dancing flushed bodies
emaciated by joy and
a dread of stasis. This
is still true as allegory—
we are now multitudes,
billions cultivating fast-food
restaurants along the crowded
promenades of the cities
inside our own heads.
Where Passenger
Pigeons once flew there
is now the silence of
horizontal emptiness.
Procedure is our new
Leviathin, our
town sherrif,
our custodian
of order, its own
doppelganger—the inner
alien. We fought inside
that membrane then,
but order drew lines
and soon made
boundaries demanding
the gerrymandered logic
that restructures and dams
what once flowed unimpeded
except by the rhythms of
self-reflexive thought
twisted into double helixes
of byzantine inter-textuality.
The meat which once
reproduced dreams outside
of itself finally succumbing
to the spatial limits that
by thwarting desire
to satisfy one form
of gravity created
those same condition
in the one realm
anathema
to them.
The outside
now inside.
The meat dream
frozen in mock stasis.
Its mystery
just another side of beef
awaiting processing
in the cold, damp
and narrow purgatory
where decisions are made
at the end
of a blood-stained
meat-hook.
JZRothstein (final edit, 3/2/2013)
Poetry by Jeffrey Z Rothstein
Read 484 times
Written on 2013-10-22 at 22:12
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Print text
Meat dreams
Meat DreamsWe are the residual
interest built up over
gravity's aeons the
exudation of great
speckled bird's felt
pleasure—sunlight
translated into
unraveled oceans
of dynamic
transcendent thought...
Dropped from deep within
bowels scarred by bone crusts,
stone biscuits, crescent-hooked
moons of tooth-rows, swallowed
fishnets of entire aquatic
regions—to remember life
once one has been preserved
as calcified mineral discharge,
what first came out of a dinosaur's
anus reconstituted as a coprolite.
To be born in steel inanimate
now gleaming shark-tails
pregnant with myriad carnivore
bone-piles of still-born thoughts;
what began as a memory
of an atrocity—the insolent
silence of nature's quotidian
tyrannies—transmutes as if
from some enzymatic dance
deciphered by pheromone-saturated
ass-gland shimmy of a single honey
bee lost in mind's reservoir of
interconnected mundane choices.
This gestalt—shiny mutant baby—
whose magnetic placental discharge
now executes the unlikely choice
become first coy shadow
vented by wet muted
light from infant dreams.
Now cloud banks will
rearrange themselves across
an infinite spectrum of shapes
amidst the broad shorelines
of grown self's colossal ocean
and innumerable beasts; the still
glowing discharge of a barely
remembered primeval idea—the
apparent accident that spawned a
city-turned-galaxy of unprecedented
forms—we are really now all of
these things in the lightning
heat-blast that speaks
through us when meat dreams.
In later days we
Stave off fears of inner
dissolution dancing
like the flower-garlanded
medieval wanderers
who evaded the plague
through a spinning yolk
of constant movement
in a human circle of
dancing flushed bodies
emaciated by joy and
a dread of stasis. This
is still true as allegory—
we are now multitudes,
billions cultivating fast-food
restaurants along the crowded
promenades of the cities
inside our own heads.
Where Passenger
Pigeons once flew there
is now the silence of
horizontal emptiness.
Procedure is our new
Leviathin, our
town sherrif,
our custodian
of order, its own
doppelganger—the inner
alien. We fought inside
that membrane then,
but order drew lines
and soon made
boundaries demanding
the gerrymandered logic
that restructures and dams
what once flowed unimpeded
except by the rhythms of
self-reflexive thought
twisted into double helixes
of byzantine inter-textuality.
The meat which once
reproduced dreams outside
of itself finally succumbing
to the spatial limits that
by thwarting desire
to satisfy one form
of gravity created
those same condition
in the one realm
anathema
to them.
The outside
now inside.
The meat dream
frozen in mock stasis.
Its mystery
just another side of beef
awaiting processing
in the cold, damp
and narrow purgatory
where decisions are made
at the end
of a blood-stained
meat-hook.
JZRothstein (final edit, 3/2/2013)
Poetry by Jeffrey Z Rothstein
Read 484 times
Written on 2013-10-22 at 22:12
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
