From Momentum - Four Excerpts by Jesse Glass 1 in a room without walls the alphabet becomes important. don't ask me why. it's a fact that two people (why do they travel in twos) are walking in the park. a green car. that's the landscape here: lake & park & car & motorcycle. and people. nothing else. everything is created out of stardust. that sounds romantic, doesn't it. facts, that's all. and even as I say this falling from the heavens are beginnings: x-rays to achieve the impossible given infinite time—(the placenta vitrifies, becomes a world-inverting lens )—infinite— and 'they created him in their image!' I think of Strindberg at the top of his evergreen tree shaking his fist at the clouds. and the clouds shaking a simian paw back. and bells ringing in the walls. why must everything be so rational. (Strindberg fought this in his wives.) the heaven of infinite textual play imagined by the french. but why give the text the benefit of the doubt? I want good old communication. x went to bed. x had a vision. "At a little Distance on the Left side is a Black Spot--the Receptacle of fallen Angels & the finally wicked. And as we know only of two Worlds (out of infinite Myriads) that have revolted; so this is big eno' to contain all those, if none were saved." 2 the alchemical lion walks down the center of our street in broad daylight little children run to him fall at his feet he looks away into the distance mr. & mrs. america step outside from their day of worship churchbells the alchemical lion is here! kitty kitty they say it lurches toward them the woman screams the man immediately takes out his cock he must have her i must copulate he says the sky is a crystal globe the alchemical lion invites them up jesus is watching from the stained glass & the birds are spinning in the park across the street like children while the children fly like catbirds tapping their little skulls against the celestial athanor. but it's a lie it was only the lake it was only blake in the park. it was only a wonder- ful music we must understand the meaning of the noon-hour 3 Here, Hound, is the way to poetry the giant figure screaming in the dark the ascent of the "Awakened" though they're found by police arranged in a half-moon chalked on the floor w/garbage bags wrapped around their heads & a stinging dose of anthrax in their veins, the serial martyrdom of the pigeons. 4 3X moved my voice w/the voice of the Crow lamenting in his high dark tree lights burning in the wetgrass 'aw wingspread shadow heavy upon me (Lion leaps at the adamantine wheel grinding his teeth to fire 'Z bones roar Babel Hell incuse a frowning King upon the inner ear) Crow slits himself open w/his beak —May I someday do the same— 'aw & a pyramid w/granite wings leaps upward to embrace the gloom. © 2002 by Jesse Glass. All rights reserved. Home