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Osteoderms



Trust the process, they say.
But there is no process,
only a steady unraveling
of what was born in randomness
and will end spontaneously
after following a mostly-determined path.

In the face of annihilation,
there is only one recourse: distraction.
This goes a long way toward explaining
both our psychology and our society.
Atomic aggregates behaving erratically,
elf-conscious, using weaponized data
in reassembling the animal
for obscurity or obscenity
under the unbearable expectation born
of the world's nurturing solicitude.
The unsubtle is unstable.

That which measures a thing
cannot demonstrate the thing,
only its dimension or duration.
There are no nouns,
only schools of adjectives
swimming in proximity,
available to help us construct
the narratives we deem preferable
or necessary.

Why focus only on emotion
when composition and function
are so much more interesting?
The problem with happiness
is that it is not unimaginable,
the attraction of transgression,
consensual degradation,
the compulsion to be
the exception to the exemption.
We don't set the price,
we just decide whether or not
we're willing to pay it.

When in doubt
flood the market with product.
Shake your poem-poems.
Perceive, evaluate, distinguish, judge.
Leverage the agony of agency
to recontextualize accident and happenstance
as self-radicalized antiquities.
Ardor, harder.

Lightning is not a poem
without thunder.
But rain is always a chorus
that speaks reasonably
of impossibilities.

There is a word that you cannot hear
and ever be the same again.
There is a combination of words.
All the combinations of all the words.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.