Sheltered in the Attractive Calculus of Belief

Metaphysical Interior with Biscuits, Giorgio de Chirico (CC BY-ND 2.0 John Althouse Cohen)

In the disembodied arson of my mirror’s arms, where guilt inoculates deviance, a door into the nowhere of my house opens and I fill, or rather plunge into, a blindfold I’ve hallucinated without wearing, a replicated metaverse of equations faceted in the windowless bible that carries us each back to zero.

When when wobbles in its socket, I betray pseudo-mathematics into the birthday deathbed of selfless. No one to be. Each body a recitation of light no longer threadbare in its sexual muscularity, breath a contradiction like the unspooling of a book, light as it slants between pages. In the bodily rub of the canopy’s leaves, a dialogue of notebooks grows genitals of tender flora, stems outspread for cutting.

A cloud of cruise missiles vaporizes doubt, spoonfuls of plutonium dose insanity, all within the reckless tapestry of empty. Robotic learning steeped in anthropocentric dissolve. Without memory, we know who we are but can’t say, language the irony of disruption, mind the hospital fire of adolescent angst.