2.1 – On chimerism

by Michael Smilovitch

A rounded retrospective
Regards this nightmarish
Being as a marvel of
Science, requiring a certain degree
Of nudity, or atheism
(If fear were clothing, or gods respectively)

So why specify retrospect?
(It is surely implicit that This is being written Now)

Watch closely, sensibly decant some Now into Then
(Since Now is nothing but fermented Then)
And take care not to inhale the fumes
Produced by our auto-cannibalistic emulsion
It has been suggested that
Meaning could always be crisper
(Meaning meaning has grown stale?)
((Just look at how we omit and insert words as we read aloud, nervously))

Just as a tale might grow broader
With the passing of sons and
Have its forehead crack
And its lips grow dry
And soon shed the lining
Of its once expressive visage
You may notice one now and then
Discarded in the gutter near a supper club
(Its face, that is, shed like a snakeskin)
((Don’t bring supper clubs into this))

Goading, and lying passively
(Reposing or deceiving?)
((Goats and lions?))
Upon damp cardboard
(Ah, reposing, but barely)
((Lions and goats!))
So as not to intrude
Or abstract, or reach
((The damage has been done))
Too desperately into the
Jowls of taxidermy
Or the skin of a prized tusk
(Or the lack of self-awareness inherent in trying to be self-aware)
((Or the quasi-progressive self-indulgence of acknowledging it))

Follow me, then, as we descend into our
Shimmering caverns by the sea
(((A rounded retrospective)))
To see how eclectic and rich the depths have
((Allegedly))
Grown

Watch, as our torch catches a wayward gem
Just so and we
Investigate, stumbling upon an
Inglorious trove of monstrous
Jewelry, topaz and olivine
(The beautiful and the necessary)
Conjoined at the hip
((And all of this might have been avoided))

Had you not looked back
As we fled
(Yes, it’s me)
Deaf
(Itself)
To the screech of all that seismic stone
Upon which we stacked sticks and bones until
The pressing, and the scraping, and the
Feather-slow bend of our bedrock
Reached a hollow climax and
(Fell out from beneath my toes)
Or
(Swallowed us up into obscurity)
But really only snapped back
Abruptly, punishing
Our broad endeavor, and its missing piece:
(((A rounded retrospective of)))
How unforgiving it can be down there

 

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obscuritysquared is available from The Blasted Tree Store.


Michael Smilovitch

Contributing Author

Other works on The Blasted Tree:


obscuritysquared by Michael Smilovitch is a Blasted Tree original collection of poetry.

ISBN [Digital]: 978-1-987906-19-6

Cover Design by Kyle Flemmer

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