DAVID SCHURMAN WALLACE / 3 POEMS
PIRANESI
An actual imitation
is not visible
is lossless
universe too much altered now
moss of propulsion
mortar of server, laughing wife guy
on the lam from the beatport authorizers
sprig-in-the-mouth
molecular pattern of trial and error
cannot see in the hood
cannot divine
of vertigo I am firstborn
transfinite cardinal, spindle
of deindustrialized dust
stabilizer in the braised intestine
of nets, bark, trapdoor academies
of open chromatin, pneuomoniac devilment and hot dentistry
of flies in meat, of camellias, of lifewater
of the crimson king
I had a childhood and this is what I saw
a trumpet vine grew up the spine of the house
until it ate stone like air
and harmony burst
no there there
photosynthetic slouch and shrug
thanatic government branch
of malady
is any fear available
when there is no unmined sound
and if this is life why is it elsewhere
why does bone foam drum on my brain pan
a high-frequency weapon
curdled, cauterized
sick under the braille of ferns
febrile, tentacular
my rotgut dreamscape is not a personality
microbubble breakdown, is this a bombed room, is this a horizon
extract of labor, botanical
fallopian, misprized on the pay scale
heart heavier than feather
no syntax for it
the interior in the interior
tyrannical yap from the xylem corridor
the illness is elusive
Dr. House cannot detect lupus
of embarrassing sizzle reel
black water
nothing to observe just by leafing through
Of Grow
Of Bulldoze
the stelar arrangement
powered by treachery elements
double-backed cereals fermenting unchecked under glacier
locked-in syndrome
lasered-out and waxed
what shall I do with this absurdity
your likeness in a gummy, your Bitmoji adultery
the slightest intrusion
my architecture-shadow
I am yours for ever
if I was born in snapdragons
the of of eternity
would soothe quicker, redistribute
the counted-up, the friable
blunted country
ginned-up waves and aggregates
forced omissions, of infertile sap
as alerts autopopulate, ordinary, frightened
slicked by delirium, wetsuit of empty days
ropes that lead to roads to nowhere
stop trying to make _______ happen
staircases do prompt questions
what is logical what is
reproducing by subtractive synthesis, by dirty fucking
crimped link in the great chain of being
root pressure
bundles of means and rare poisons
a clearly blank promise
spore hive, trigger
of punishment
modular
panicles of brainwaves
for example a phantom pain
lawful evill
a handheld device, slashed down
for Prime Day
the hibernation is induced, the check is cashed
the plaza swallows more, not expected, absent
persons could gather here to pray
in the slick grip, delivered in a meltable cube
when science has not grown dismal enough
surface tension of edgelord detunings
trawled naked on a coastline porous
so acumulate
null hypotheses
bundle of icework
neuroform
ringbearing whatsit
An acupuncture of
Eclipsed by
allomorphic supermarkets
fat clouds
biochecking the
time turns down migraine volume
disclosed in an instant, as when descending
form heavens and the city’s pores sweat
defrocked grenade
defanged
strange alloy
Siege Perilous
and we are strapped into the machine, we suggest
half-jokingly the limbs are tailor-made
for the harnesses—
Habitually to dream magnificently
as when two trees have grown together, fused
their weary crowns, let
lip-smacking
sin supple water
gerrymanderer of my days
loosen the tangles
there is no innocence
Another fold is possible
BYE-BYE
This situation has grown dangerous and unacceptable
I said to my better angel.
We watched him kill them at 1.25x speed.
The warping of the wood
is a byproduct
of a will that cannot be visualized.
A sick ocean underfoot.
Would you like a glass of water?
You’ve been working hard, your toes have turned to blood.
The spores, made ultraviolet, were in bloom.
The parties they attended
sickened their relatives
and you never heard from them again.
The forecast was increasingly unpredictable:
snow chewed up sunshine, sunshine flexed a morphine drip.
The paid correspondents were riding horses
through an unnamed jungle.
The influencers triggered a silent alarm.
Put your hand in mine.
You lived there for years but you were asleep.
COLOSSEUM
In the bitterer time lions titrate blood
In the venom time tipped tridents and satin facemasks
There is no safety net no intelligent design
The muscle ripple lifts us up and down and up
Disk-in adrenaline the terror of two-tone boredom
The selling of tickets the scalping the popcorn merchandise
Wild iris and boxing a multiplicity of categories
What oversoul what detonation what you break you buy
The hard limit the steel confetti can drown
Put up or shut up tendering the roar underneath
Out of your gut the flammable hair encrypts the link
Although hair would grow after the death of glory
Inbox satisfactions the fragrant smoke of decline
All night scrapping transforming on an artificial lake
Have you heard the thin-lipped lines of the fanatics
Without a case for the elegance of a principle
Crowds and wounds assemble the meanings emerge
Birds in conference discover a cause of migration
Where they vacate gaps we occupy like mute particles
What is torn limb from limb is reconstituted
In blocks of gel in apeshits in unmarked graves
The era that excuses nothing has no sense of smell
You have been playing too many videogames lately
The impulse to push the button and see
The impulse to kick the cat to drown the puppy
Find out what happens to find what happens to find
National banks break the gasworks the reservoir grid
Behemoth and Leviathan all acceptance given over
That we can kill that we dominate by reproduction
Capital accumulates in a field by ruthlessness and cunning
But first the body is burnished with oils and honey
The sandals are tied with double knots
We do not know if there is forgiveness for the failed
Beyond the rift of possible authority beyond clover
The slumbering cannot jump over the barricade
And those who try are bludgeoned in shadow
The games are paused for an intermission
Until the next slate of opposites is realized
Until a time of fanatics with a secret plan
A vocation a spell a password and the click
To resuscitate moonlight and funnel years down
Until order is impossible and the seam is known
David Schurman Wallace is a writer living in New York City.