human flow
in a society
of the apocalypse,
where the reality of the sun
is always increased
for adventure,
where the self
around the body
can practice absence
and surrender
for exactly the opposite
of what the dark begins to provoke
in the name
of the spiritual
encounter
of collapse,
you can’t destroy
the missing human flow.
bouys
on wings Fascismo
[middle column of Gramsci, A. Prison Notebooks Vol. 1-3 trans J.A.
Buttigieg, and A. Callari. (New York, NY: Columbia University Press, 1992) §7.11
§7.18, and left margin of Sangster, C. The
St. Lawrence and Other Poems (University of Toronto Press, 1972) pgs163-4]
this As when
positive The tender
realm of Her very breath
time That set the pulses
absolutely only With
immanentist As pure starbeams
almost unaware My soul
marked by a growing Surely
<ironbound> As day-break
idealism The heavy clouds
metaphysical dignity hung like opiate
that it is thus Had burned
industrial She spake
Remember That opens to the song
And buoys on wings Fascismo
words Meeting the silvery
come Midway from
discipline My palpitating
the mountain-thoughts
life laid me panting
I staggered forth “morality”
becomes swept the gentle popular
unity dew of
heaven
A mimic star-world dialectical
matter on the trembling
center of It glistened
Upon them after the workers and
this theory
in
themselves
value
---praxis
Theseus
(translation from Latin of the last
speech in Seneca’s play Phaedra line 1247-80, italics added)
But. . .it was he himself that tore Hippolytus limb by limb...unable to recognise his crime or son, Theseus reconstructs both. . .
So here! Relinquish the body with
care,
These amassed limbs brought together
blindly -
Hippolytus so? Crimes known closer
twice
I avert from you, not only but once
Greeting the attempts as parent with
guilt
Invoking father - to present in
turn.
O sad broken years! Orbiting
sickness
That swims with the strong arms as
if on top.
O miserable - hug this mournful
breast
From above, father, dismembered
scatters
To distribute order, errants locate
-
Refleshing their roles - place the
strong hand right.
Here lefts the reigns, once
controlled hands
Ordain: I, this left recognise.
Noting
How these great tears still confirms
the missing -
Harden trembling hands that mourn
wiping tears.
Weeper of abundant tears, be dry
While begotten limbs - son in law is
born!
The body handle! What bit’s this,
formless
And ugly - so many wounds from all
sides?
What piece then are you? But it’s
part of you -
Here, here - empty space belongs in
you not.
Is this the face that sparks burning
starlight?
Bends proud splendour? Here secedes
the beauty.
O dire fate, countless the raging
favours
More so - parenting born from these
votives.
Pay heed, seize the final gift of
father’s
Many times brought forth. See these
to a fire!
Meanwhile throw open this cut up
death house!
All Mosposia! In clear songs lament.
You there, prepare a royal blazing
pyre,
And you, to the fields body parts
inquire.
. . .as Theseus prepares to feast on his child, he turns to the other victim of his double homicide. . .
As for that? May Earth in burial
crush,
Soil to weigh upon that monstrous
thing!
BLOOD STONES
I
are these feelings contiguous? drawn, slipped
without spaces for storage? stretched, fitted, bound for passage? parcelled
off, redolent? tresselled cars acknowledge freighted frays. bolt roll, incence
patterns breaking, lerched inwards always. the vivisect pinned once more, forms
by form distraught and victimized positions scribbled out once shorthand.
threads tied sinews.
II
syringe deep, it plants static dreams. wounded,
they jump neuro cascades, smashing egos with topsy-turvy rooms imbrewed.
trashed shadows stalk nightly raids. fleshed out plans skittle out into dropped
encirclements. found meantime, glass cut jibberish, pulling heads from whole
keta-holed slacking. how swells reminisced meats, grease, aged cheese.
unconcious broaching.
russell carisse is currently living on unceded Wolastoqiyik/Mi’kmaw territory in New Brunswick. Here they have resettled from Tkaronto to an off-grid trailer in the woods, with their family of people and animals, to grow food and practice other forms of underconsumption. russell is the author of three chapbooks, the latest, In The Margins. . . (above/ground press 2024). Their work can be found online and in print. Website: russellcarisse.carrd.co Mastodon: @russellcarisse@writing.exchange