Wednesday, December 11, 2013

11 December 2013

Renée Stout

Canto 1

Make chili in a crockpot like a room & boarder.
When you fabricate an automaton
to rinse clothes, the creature

should be project driven,
obsess with staying relative,
spy on others having fun,

things that are alive
— think diorama of a family picnic —
spring wound to what you're programmed to believe.

Contraption rejected,
your recipe’s been found
under broiling sun, biting insects

gamboling o'er the wound.
Even the cat’s
misguided flounder

shoves the feather beyond its theoretical grasp,
lacks true intensity,
focuses on carving a path

conceived by a French community,
a comeback mechanical’s
plausible ring of intensity.

After days battered & huddled
you'll find yourself loose
in the middle

of leaded vinings in rippled glass,
rounding the corners of sense.

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