Strange Attractor Poesy Chaotic energies abound/ the shape of epiphany graphed on XY scattergram/fifty humans milling around/standing one next to another/ shoot one gun into the air/ watch them collide in naked fear/ smothering each other's innuendoes/ next scenario/ fifty birds milling about pecking the ground/dignified peck. .peck/concentrating on peck . . peck/now SHOOT the gun and fly and fly and fifty fly away/ no collision/ perfect beautiful fly and wing/motion a sweet gift/now Pollock in a labyrinth of/ fat maniacal smiles spending a while glued to his facial cigarette a paranormal gesture/these spatters impossible as bee's flight/ they become after some time a place of worship/ a twirling alter/ baptism in the purest waters of turbulence/that ending place divine in history/ a jeweled box to hold the pure gravity of time/these gestures create pattern/these continuous patterns create them selves in isolation/ in the surest realm of alone they are whole/ and unambiguous beyond any notion our understanding could weave/these constant returns to imagination/ these guts spilled on the canvas/ the examined entrails coded on a symbol's / /wholly iterative reply Crane's landing on the water/embittered by the mollusk/ turning his gift now to warm dark sea a cacophony of forces/ pulling continuously the arms outstretched as in Johns' work/ but he is the original set of arms/ he is the strange attractor around which/ the universe swirls in pigment/ /down and around the drain swirls/ when it should be simply down / the underside of each word's collision/ banished from history's dark calculus/ leaves its algo- rithm strewn across the floor/ in wee naked hours of dancing/ the whole place revolves in vapors/ the last holy arbitrage of despair has launched the gentle crucifixion/ and we intoxicated/ bound ourselves to mast to keep from following/ held these continuous waves against our souls/ a singular fury built from piteous cries/ where the vessels delinquent pitch came stammered off/a roving predilection which is again a pattern built in stars/in the several hours of damaging duration/ shattered consequences of our memories' quilt/ where the arms again are splayed in art as in meditation there is a favored turn/ a pantomime we follow for the grain is rich/ and several echoes in a word we found undone/ where the arms are open rivulets of molten iron/ flowing out and down
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