Andrew Joron

Anti-Mate

Animate any

            or any’s nominator—

And then a man, and then a many.

If I say so, I seesaw.

C’est ça! C’est ça!

Toward the un-

Toward, O cloaca of the clock / the nothing doing.

After all

            the forms of fatality

            lay wrung, lie wrong.

Un-

Til an un-

Tell-

            ing, ring of my sea-scene: O

            ma mer, O ma mer!

            Mere ardor a door, or red odor.

Broadcast

Heed: these seeds

            suspended in space—

Static

            news, paused formation.

Picture: a picture

            of particles caught

            in a cast of timeless light—

A where

            before there, a thought

Cast in stone.

I, last

Member of the cast, must read from that script

            where eyes speak out

& ears peer in.

            I am not made of anything.

Matter is

            what doesn’t—period.

            Poor reception

            at this depth.

MN8

Stand before a mirror, & you become

            a member of another world.

Stand behind a name, & the world

            becomes a member of itself.

So, make a map of all the eyes you’ve ever met.

Find a path through the mirrors of Thine Others.

Continuity is the essence of the abyss.

To radiate, leave it all behind.

To emanate, stay connected to the source.

Wave-

            phantom, the ship of state—

            who cares? who carries? who cures?

Write your answer here, on the most

            reflective surface.

Dear observer—as space expands, “never”

is misspelled as “nerver.”

So the mind is blinded by perception.

So reading is reanimation of the dead.

The Spectator Position

The plus

Of placing you, I mean me

Upon the sacrificial stone—

Minus us

In the maze of us, left self.

Aloft, absent finality

            for the knelling, the kneeling before—

            O whore of here! I’ll gladly pay.

I offer my backstory

            retconned

            into Heat Death of the Universe

Now airing—sorry—

            erring on

The side of, the site of, the sight of vanishment.

            No truth without

A random alphabet, alas.

            No tree without a flame, no

            name without a name.

You

& you alone

Are responsible for your sins

Says the guy or guide to me.

            A stray ray is not okay.

Here, only hear

            the rake of

Ex-extant, beyond argument.

Next to all that is

            spilt sibilant

There’s a thing that is split

In increments—

            as if if

Might sift it-

            self toward entities

As non-synonymous, yet sincere

            as this & that.

Then there’s another

Who says

            I’m the girl of you

            sitting in your lap.

Abstract situation, sure.