Contempt

by on November 8, 2017 :: 0 comments

An homage to John Ashbery

When I mark the two edges
of a contempt
with a sharp pencil
naivete interrupts.
It bestrides on the two edges
and pushes them away.
‘I just walk around
Into the dusk-charged air.’
Vividly smell my own perspiration –
the monster inside me
replicates itself in an endless variation.
Is contempt a chess-board?
A driveway?
Amorphism?
“…I cannot explain the action of leveling
why it should all boil down to one
uniform substance, a magma of interiors.”

editors note: A word impossible to define for those who are above it. - mh clay

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