from Sermons and Lectures Both Blank and Relentless 


Bartleby the Scrivener and scotch on the rocks

Disproportion means surprise in the story of punk

Itís not mine, the terror, but itís someoneís I love,

the terror coming over the invisible fences     This one

needs a definition      Feedback is sound when itís eating itself

I love that and the numbness overwhelming when Iím drinking

Put your fingers in your ears and you can hear the children

blowfish     The plum blossoms falling, so lofty in their phrasing

Do crocodiles bite     Iíll be somebodyís bleeding     Hibiscus

and a year on the neighborhood patrol     This is a movie

of all the things I saw, but itís also a reminder how to type

the words for love     I canít hype them enough     My hope

is repetition and a beautiful solo where raindrops keep falling

and falling makes sense     Chance operations and organ transplants

The monsterís shallow breath making everybody braver

Then coming back to bite us with suffering and woe

Whoa     Jim Carroll flashing a Krypton Laser     Little piranha

with its mouth on the glow     My friend Christian used to be

an eraser, but now heís more a beard with a laugh

like a poncho     You can figure that (and a lot else) out

for yourself     But essentially Nature has a funny way

of fixing     Damaged Goods by Gang of Four

Thereís nothing I like better than a soundtrack

for mischief

 

*****

 

Mote/Emote     Iím not there yet     The electric

connection connects us, nevertheless, at the nexus

between two construction sites, one with cut paper,

one with wooden blocks     After all the cityscapes

and birds melting off     The alphabet survives us

and begins to make its sense      And in spite of all

our efforts to exist in floral prints, the spring

in our steps isnít remotely about Wire     Not

ďField Day for the SundaysĒ     Not a flag of any

color      Pink covered Agnes from the moment

she was born     From the moment she was born

ever after and before     One deep breath was all

it took      The meadow goes on holiday     The system

goes and goes along     Consuming and growing, but

eventually you die     When are you gone     And when

is it knowing     Never greener, the grass stains

My fingers, my forehead, the knees of my pants

When the word comes over the speaker itís bloody

These instructions I donít get more or less     I get

richer ground to stand on, as the magma breaks

a sweat     I remember once     Something cherry

Japanese     This is my first ever lecture on spring 

 

*****

 

Relentless or reckless     Bubble up to the surface

To end all thought, as the body gets lost     A braying

in the ether     A critical condition      Grapefruit beer

with an owl on the label      Japanese writing     White

crayon on a cloud      forgetters forgetting how

they used to be candy     And screwing our faces

when we couldnít make a difference     Turn up the music

and disappear forever     Lake of fire, crystal meth, heaven is

whenever in the uprooted house     Too much pressure

when the death sentence rattles     I sentence the sentence

to a lifetime of racket     Back and forth blasting this series

of lectures     The animals ferocious as they drive us

to the wall     This is one way we string meaning togetheró

meaning: together we are better than distracted or apart

The tears and the tears should be emphasized both

When I pick you up later, weíll happily ever after

or weíll wallow in grass stain through the blood

from the get go     My mouth so shattered I can almost

taste the devil     The sea urchin jello     The large or small

engine     Coleridge and Corso     Poly Styrene

and Whitman     I sing the vanished body of electrified moss

A planet of snowmen in every direction, and you

with a litter of new-fangled puppies      Our friends

with their kickstands hanging out to be empty

Complexion or complexity     Iím dazzled by your beauty

Iím tramping in your froth     So much mewling,

but I see no evil, or I see only evil     It all adds up

to harder and faster the robotsí collisions, and the factories

of atmosphere and everybody so high that the ceiling

is the new floor, and when it collapses the birds, so frightened

and hollow, look to us for reassurance     Never look down

and the water-wings will hold     Nowís the time for X-Ray Specs

A thousand barrettes and the Fluorescent Condoms     I want

this to be special, and I think the visionís flowing     Or

flowering and floating     The winged things panic

when we tell them not to panic     We hit the ground

hungry, and they fly into a painting     Two or three never make it,

so we snap them with our jaws     happiest happinesses     One by one

we pick them off      Our appetites as massive as a giant white hole

A universe born every second when you scream it     Run,

naysayers     Weíre the supernatural soul     The music

pouring out of us only wants to make you part of us, part

of an order including disorder, including all the fire, both over

and under, you suck a lot of water, but weíre here to make you

actual angels, not tourists      Weíre here to connect

with that bone in your jaw     It only takes a second, and

you wonít know what hit you, wonít know whether youíre coming

or going, forming or reforming or a sea floor of clouds

Gargoyle delightful     Brief moment of fission       Everybody

clap your hands     Clap your hands


_____________________________________


Matt Hart is the author of Who's Who Vivid (Slope Editions, 2006) and Wolf Face (H_NGM_N BKS, 2010). A co-founder and the Editor-in-Chief of Forklift, Ohio: A Journal of Poetry, Cooking and Light Industrial Safety, he lives in Cincinnati where he teaches at the Art Academy of Cincinnati.