poem || Lewis Gesner

From poem Uvula Modex in progress

Sixty ossify

In the waistband find the choke wire. Here they thought a fatal hold. Sanctity of correction. Obsessive variation begins as instructions to the scales. To walk in fair rounds is a scolding to the humility of the first presence. Alive rounds of newness, pressed to folds the metalworker creased into the aluminum sheet. You can see it, jutting from the wall. It began inside a frame. Then a single person changed it, ever. How done can be composed, degree. More increments packed with elements itching to combine across their boundaries. Layers differently composed gel when approached by nature retract, conceive each other forms the pits and pots we know. That’s a scale. The prime mover in a page the underwire scratched across the plain. Apple crates and grates respond to designate them function. A season for hooks, fly-like, thin and barbed, on transparent nylon thread, in a turmoil. The black and white of a fifties science fiction movie, having been spliced several times, even using pieces of amber half developed thirty five millimeter slide film as patches, there, the sense of that. Atmosphere designate, dry afternoon, sharpened sunlight through a cool shell on the earth. These are limits and tropes. Buried some ancient what-to-bes. Ending is the middle state while many readjust to preambles. The divination of the straddled wood or fallen cake.