Magnetics of an Advice Horizon

I clean my carpet with a gun.

Balls of cat hair puff up where the bullets hit.

Where my life had stood.

They look like baby ghostcats with no ears, tails, or limbs.

They smoke and settle.

The carpet is still dirty and is now full of black holes—

so forget my first sentence.

The End.

Black umbrella wings creak open in the bionic forest.

Bats are bats.

Bionics are the study of biological principles

as applied to the design of engineering systems.

Engineering could be A B C or D

and to examine the flutter between each letter is bad luck.

Normal rats turn to lab rats whose neuro-packs

allow them to search the rubble of, say,

a monumental mental maze after its collapse.

Star is rats backwards.

Strawcab is backwards backwards.

Actually, strawcab backwards is backwarts

from which can be extracted star, rats, bats, art, war and so on.

One might say:

I used to cut my hair, now I cut my I hate America.

But secret languages are forbidden

so I have tea with six seraphim, dark-winged, on thrones at the oak table.

Things become spirited.

The winged creatures ask me to pick up some red-hot coals with my bare hands.

I say only if you teach me how to speak Saint.

We’ll have that arranged they say, after consulting each other’s eyes.

The problem of knowledge, as Kant saw it,

was how to connect the "is" of sense experience

with the "must" of necessary and universal truth.

The blisters on my hands interfere but seem holy.

Smooth plastic molded onto sharpness will perhaps take the stab from barbed wire.

Stab is bats backwards.

Brick houses hold little lives in the kitchen.

The kitten is caught in chicken wire.

The chicken is caught in kitchen wire and thawed.

When you say meow you are saying something mean in cat language.

That is why my cat hates you.

You don’t know what you could be saying in cat language so don’t say meow.

The creek ripples where an owl tips its wings.

Flavor is set out near the biscuits

to prove that weather makes taste

and harbors within its turbulent intrusions

the means by which to fuse.

The hybrid, in his lonely uniqueness,

makes it his business to find a way to link up Mortar and Leopard

in order to make metaphysical the masonry of animalism.

Being themselves somewhat outcast,

his failed experiments ravage the backyard

and gobble and guzzle everything in sight.

The cows double-back like hippos,

which has nothing to do with this.

Such a tender place now.

b. Magnetics of an Advice Horizon

One Amish man has become urban

and is now dusting books in the museum.

In the museum is another man throwing donuts in the air,

a witness walking sidestep,

all thick shoes and chubby cheeks

on whose flab the pair of innocent eyes may go trampolining.

Afterward, she loosens her robe to let her tattoo

show what swells a fine glow on her mixed fortress.

She puts the stomach-fire out with a silver bucket.

A gate of well-wishers can’t help,

but they notice the silhouette of General Custer

in the black tarnish on the handle and point him out gleefully.

Wearing war medals, shiny under boughs of metallic dew.

A bellowed string of identifiers follows:

Sir—Fine hat—Speaks well in deliberate niche—Fanatic—

then dies at the end of the block.

Hearing how to hear is hearing a loose door-latch

lock itself into a tiny cupboard,

somewhere under reducible clicks

and above a warrior fez that no one knows about

because the war it was made for

was concocted on a particular Leap Year Day that everyone forgot.

We exist tomorrow because of it.

It is an exit, this type of vision.

It is the wind or a tired apparition

kicked under the couch and left to remind no one of anything.

The historical public eye is full of bad hair-dos and that’s about it.

And there is an automatic vintage-planet commitment.

Foucault notes that when man sees himself

as involved in the world and also as a transcendental source of meaning,

he enters into a strange relation with his own involvements.

This unthought must necessarily be accessible to thought.

We’ll have a forum about where these types of forums have gone.

We’ll have a quasi-Sabbath

for topics that arise in the midst of a mind’s bigger leaks:

Tell me if the sky will look as blue as the sailors say.

You will like me as soon as you are well.

You will like me better as soon as you are better.

My hollow part said that—the irking gave their King messages

about what the lips in the West say when the sun goes to Heaven.

c. Magnetics of an Advice Horizon

She sets a delicate plate of steamed dandelions out.

The rusty dune buggy arrives and in the passenger seat

is a bird nest full of cut up French bread.

Trails of moss line the flat red road.

A seed is poked with green life from inside

and I’m certain there is something to notice here

such as the person down front studying his own fingernail dirt.

Other saints run a small business in the garden

and these are three questions they ask in an occasional lapse of piety.

“Isn’t good affection good?

Isn’t good affection good?

Isn’t good affection good?”

Beautiful hairdos happen because of weather and locked-away hats.

There is a colonel and an entire platoon in the clouds—

raise up your cocktail sword and try to look a bit threatening.

A cloud-man swats flies from the mustard.

It doesn’t work until he thinks of algorithms.

Posing here a divine climb, he is inclined to stoop

to give them each a tap on the bulbous eye—

to shout the division between the edge and the side—

to envision the slide of the veins of the things

flickering beside the knotted wood.

I would not do it against a tree.

I cooperate with the blue Octova

and leave my old clothes piled in the dirt.

After all, there are piecrusts to fill.

The last time we met we took turns

with the hand-flap gesture that means

“the stuff I put in my mouth is very hot.”

If you need help filling or feeling

call my friend Nav at 707-893-3121.

If you need any Thing use this Visa card.

4190 8131 3200 1702.

It expires when you cut it up.

Linda P Horton is the full name on the card.

If you need counter space, take the Orange line to Ashland

and go to 3165 Archer.

Ring the upper bell and ask for the History of Western Philosophy.

You can bake many pies in the big oven there.