Sleepingfish infinite

from CHLOROSIS by Michael Flatt & Derrick Mund




my want is to care about the ways I want to care about soil ph levels. to take off your samizdat scruff and hush my nothing in the hush of a collective nothing. our mutual empties to cozy over while the earth is marbled with coffee grounds and diapers and acetaminophen. our choices, imping toward stasis: to be young and express a chair doing most of the talking. would you believe the heath is more beside you than this?


“I am not utterly uninterested in humans.” but just how into the over-codified ideal of maleness am I? I mean, I’ll perform a network analysis of windblown collectivities of street trash. for had the sun not glinted on this mass of miscellany, I might not have stopped, pulled out my glowing architecture and captured the assemblage. I am fully aware of my materialism, but the fact that I own it does not negate it. I realize it requires “buying ever-increasing numbers of products purchased in ever-shortening cycles.” the more objects I touch, the less force they exert upon me until their desperation to exert force moves them to form the coherent waves we find smooshing us into the sand. these solitons inertly decode our composition, the composition of our desires. so how do we know the tide doesn’t recede by choice? again, whiteness in passive objects to our active subjectiveness. do we even qualify as active? any moreso than the kinked ping-pong ball or the ripped highway tire or the lead paint chip or the squeaking floor joist or the frozen asteroid which each move and are moved in the matter flow? this movement constitutes a form of autopoesis in which the proto-actant approximates the activity of the actant. the thing-power of the gun powder residue sampler inscribes in the thing something resembling the will of the spirit, equally unknown, unproven, and yet voluminously expounded upon for centuries thanks to our centering of the subject in our onto-poetics. on the ethical radar screen, the I is our god, and no amount of semiotic swerve will pull it from its orphaned royal throne. no kinship of all things. no sudden mineralization of idea into concept into being. non-identity holds sway over qualitative singularities, over the mobile set lacking a mineralized spirit. our faint gestures toward some hedonistic self-denial, that commune we never form, are what kill us in this fugitive dimension.


a common anomaly, or some shitbird culture?

mining for white noise, I’ll show you my road rash white cartilage. I’ll ask you into a game of dark darts—which is just darts in the dark. we’re not here to read the sea within the sea.

we spill white spit from our cheeks and lips when we fall in the white stone shit ditch. we wake up little by little by the shit we wake littled by.

do you wake up in yards after a whiteout night on the tracks? if so, how is your sheepskin blanket so bloodlessly white?

Process News

Michael Flatt is a PhD candidate in the Poetics Program at SUNY Buffalo. He was named by J. Michael Martinez to the Poetry Society of America’s 2013 list of New American Poets for his book, Absent Receiver, and he is the founder of Low Frequency Press.

Derrick Mund lives in Denver, CO where he cohosts The Leon Affair: A Reading Series and acts as a cofounder and board member of the Denver Small Press Fest. He is also the poetry editor for SpringGun Press. He received his MFA from the University of Colorado in Boulder.

More of their collaborative poems can be found in Timber and Sink Review. Chlorosis will be published by The Operating System in 2018.


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