< aspirational desire >

[rayheinrich]

       


                                                    < aspirational desire >
                                               
                                                but did we forget the chicken?
                                               
                                                letters
                                                little bits of words
                                                spread across spaces
                                                most times white
                                                sometimes darker
                                               
                                                little bits of
                                                young life waiting impatiently to discover
                                                and I
                                                old
                                                still waiting
                                                still complicit in its discovery
                                               
                                                cookbook schemes
                                                ingredients listed
                                                one by one
                                                instructions appropriate
                                                ambiguous enough to define subconscious
                                               
                                                waiting
                                               
                                                hidden in the thoughts of
                                                class and politics and lovers
                                               
                                                mixed
                                                 
                                                the index of our despair
                                                our expectation
                                               
                                                dust
                                                (with no thought of ashes)
                                               
                                                we've launched our ingredients
                                                one by one
                                                in letters
                                                and little bits of words
                                                we string as necklaces
                                                worn by worlds
                                                and necks too little to be considered
                                                tiny foods
                                                too small to eat
                                                strewn across lives
                                                of abundance and scarcity
                                                one by one
                                                the new waiting
                                                the old expecting
                                               
                                                "there's the sun!" you say
                                                amazed
                                                each time it rises
                                                and the chicken
                                                forgotten in our aspiration
                                                walking its jerky walk
                                                eyeing bits of corn you've thrown
                                                spread
                                                across our yard
                                                its earth below grass
                                                its green above brown
                                               
                                                small bits of need
                                                aspirations of dinner
                                                abundance and want
                                                both touched and desired
                                                smooth surface of flesh
                                                across breasts and through thighs
                                                of chickens
                                                of yours
                                                sometimes white
                                                sometimes darker
                                               
                                                            - - -





Would be delighted to find out what thoughts you had while reading this... not interpretations of my words, but what the words got you to think about.
(Though off or on-topic remarks, clever abuse, response poems, and criticism are welcome as well.)

[ellajam]

Thanks for posting this, Ray, so much fun to spend time with. I need more time to crystalize why I like it so much but first: What necks are too tiny to be considered? I see the contrast to worlds but it I can't buy it.

[vagabond]

my first thought was that  question of "what came first, egg or chicken"? maybe the real answer is “corn”?

this is interesting, can probably be interpreted in a lot of ways, so I decided to use the handy spoiler box to hide my guesses.

 
          < aspirational desire >
                                               
but did we forget the chicken?                 
 
letters
little bits of words                       
spread across spaces       nice double meaning
most times white            
sometimes darker          
                                               
little bits of
young life waiting impatiently to discover
and I
old
still waiting
still complicit in its discovery         “complicit” seems to make discovery a crime. knowledge as a burden?
 
                                               
cookbook schemes                instructions how to take on life  …..
ingredients listed
one by one
instructions appropriate             
ambiguous enough to define subconscious   ….. thwarted by the subconscious.
(anyway a great line, the ambiguous “defines” something nebulous.)
                                               
waiting
                                               
hidden in the thoughts of
class and politics and lovers          all heavy morality  just ingredient to a more simple thing?
                                               
mixed
the index of our despair
our expectation
                                               
dust              associating this with expectation it makes me think of crumbled expectations
(with no thought of ashes)          
                                               
we've launched our ingredients     
one by one
in letters
and little bits of words            
we string as necklaces
worn by worlds
and necks too little to be considered            somehow makes me think the necks are strangled as they are tied, together with the worlds, by these necklaces…a metaphor for high expectations  in oneself or in others or by others?

tiny foods              little bits of words...  words only describe food or form an idea about it, like some potential, like germ cells,  so thoughts/ words as some precursor of eggs?
too small to eat
strewn across lives             
of abundance and scarcity
one by one
the new waiting            .. as they have no idea or no certain idea (yet)
the old expecting          .. as experience has given them ideas, and with them expectations (be they positive or negative)
                                               
"there's the sun!" you say
amazed
each time it rises
and the chicken        the chicken as a metaphor for … something to do with instinct/ base needs?
forgotten in our aspiration
walking its jerky walk
eyeing bits of corn you've thrown      corn: metaphor for what feeds desire ?
spread                               
across our yard
its earth below grass
its green above brown            ok green could be hope. brown is harder to interpret: decomposed expectations, shitty experiences, when I think about the circle of life the soil in fact is what we´re composed of as well.                                               
small bits of need                          
aspirations of dinner                       hope for fulfillment of desire?
abundance and want
both touched and desired
smooth surface of flesh                     
across breasts and through thighs       
of chickens
of yours    
sometimes white
sometimes darker                eggs.. perfectly white or stained     

[rayheinrich]

If it's explication you want, I'm happy to oblige:
It's a political tract which attempts to induce the reader to deconstruct, then connect, her/his three selves: physical, mental, and societal;
and his/her three states: past, present, and future (the first and third being illusions, as we only ever exist in the present).

And the chickens... they're all up to you.

[vagabond]

If it's explication you want, I'm happy to oblige:
It's a political tract which attempts to induce the reader to deconstruct, then connect, her/his three selves: physical, mental, and societal;
and his/her three states: past, present, and future (the first and third being illusions, as we only ever exist in the present).

And the chickens... they're all up to you.

aha. now I know less than before. or maybe more since I know what I don´t know. If anything even can be known.
good thing readers may keep the chickens