Chris Gutkind
from Digits After Orph
1꞉3
Songs can do, how does flesh follow/turn code?
Dry me split you, load my lazy heart to go on/in.
Make consumption flower wishing, yes we can.
Be memory tomorrow. Maybe desire converts,
urgent done techly, exposed catching/selling me
in chips and drive, loving/losing in metal nows.
Desire can't everything. Easy for some to copy.
And if I end being outer or nearly/what of skin?
Sure there's stars oceans street and wind there
somehow feeling. What of smell? I'm oldtiming,
as going things/using hands and eyes your's too.
Pick second life, forget my body it goes anyway.
Living is what stays when we leave. Be Exxons.
The time worth eating gets made with likelands.
1꞉4
Selfers and spyers we're the natural.goo ones,
following myselves in skinless accounts or you,
speedysum, loaded up/down, my diced senses,
joining as an URL who hardly feels the lessing.
You rushy, unbreathing air, webworkhome'd,
fervent belongy, it's our map in your picface!
Who knows how to last there? I do, don't you?
Smile then, I won't see. I'll sad, you won't see.
Who wants to suffer? If you want to stay back.
Everything be like like. My bodyweight going
with ice and oil, gone in your ground dreams.
What's a tree? Or profiles you wage in ourself
and blogged to. Go inside them, that's a start.
It's cosy there. Screw Earth. It'll repair itself.
Chris Gutkind grew up mostly in Montreal and has lived in London
for decades. He has had three books out, Inside to Outside from
Shearsman was one.
He writes: "About this sequence there's much to say but essentially
it is gridded atop Rilke's Sonnets to Orpheus but while that
sequence is one of presence, and I'm very fond of it, mine is one of
absence more or less and, sadly, kinda dystopic."
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