Sebaceous a Poetics

little currency here,
edge of a surface ‘pataphysics once called

calculated fictions

lichen holds

to coffee

crows feet
witness rails twisting from monongha

(candles remain in drawers tonight)

baffled the
undertow, such places

epithelial, epiself the
whorl, self-regulation 

places, places

such as where
the pigeons vanish

from Scripto-Erratum

6.

bird flies straight

laces open tone open

fifth sentence a stroll through

central park then fifth

avenue curl of an empty february sycamore

wrote zhang er journalogging

correspond sentencing to now

hear tracing evident

steps back “home” echo chamber

music schubert’s trio steels a sill in february

desk at window a d a minor thought

flew off leaving this letter sharp feather

3.

alabaster sent

ence essence lessens

catastrophe apostrophe

missing remissing re

scind s/he said re wrote went

moved dyed re covered re

moved from premises

premise important later

capital letters arrive later

after ours waiting

end full stop period reseal

begin again seed inert

Noteology Liminal Behaviors
to Thalia Field

the woman might be         mad
formula this trapeze

(A)          a clacking
               a clanking

obedient not is,

(B)          behind blinds zebra finches
(C)          collect on a pain

(D) DIFF FUNCTION  reads (E) epitaph
(F) FUNCTION OF THE SIGN (enthrallment with le t t e r s)

(G)          grave is not a place
(H)           hands (I) igniting batons & glass circus orbs

               for                           get a        n
               alphabet——————————————-

obedient is:

               obsessions paddling
               spurious rivers

the woman might be         mad
contropasto when stoned

contra-  position

                ing

combinatorics

                O the raving
                O the ravens

STEALING VIRTUOUS seeds o the F
VIRTOUS IS STEALING friend,

her tight skin
wrapping bone
her best clothes
waiting a notice
her tightrope pulling
no farce

                no satire
                battalion of          [telephone] voices—NO

choir

If my hand an island and what

            idle chitchat does not pertain to the edge, the rail, the lip of crater.  Idle chitchat goes in one ear and sticks in that ear, stays there balled up with the wax and lint and cilia and water and incubating dangerous cells, the other ear does this as well, the two never meet when it comes to idle chitchat, the two never connect to the BRAIN either, yours, his, ours, oars, his, your stain reserved for

                                                            answerable

                                                                        questions

                                                                                    music

—Why is that so?  Is not this idle chitchat?
—This is idle chitchat; and yet it is not.  It would be but we are running out of, we

            are approaching the    [            ]       end of one and beginning of another, the end of one, the beginning of another.  So there are exemptions.  You can see if you were six hundred feet or taller the end of this ISLAND, that place where earth gives way to a parabolic aluminum structure, this structure to the bay, the bay to structure.  The bay.  The

                                                                        bay

                                                                            of

                                                                               exemptions

—Are you music?
—I am not music
—But if you were music, would you sound like            this?
—I would sound different; I could be music, I could close my eyes and become music, but

            your ears would bleed you would become deaf.  Here the ears are favored over all things they burn with intensity, their powers infinitely more acute.  Have you not recognized that burning with each crackle of things?

—I have
—Please tell me, as the eyes will grow dim and the question will soon be lost, what is it what, in this case, please, what is in your hand?  

David Michael Wolach is the author of Fractions of M (Trainwreck), The Transcendental Insect Reader (Stormy Petrel), and Acts of Art/Works of Violence (SSLA, University of Sydney). His work has appeared this year or is forthcoming from Admit 2, Night Train, The Concelebratory Shoehorn Review, The Duplications, AB OVO, Ghoti, PRESS 1, and elsewhere. Originally from Detroit, he teaches writing, literary theory, and philosophy at The Evergreen State College. Wolach currently teaches as a visiting poet in Bard College’s Language & Thinking program and is editor of Wheelhouse Magazine.