Issue 1 Cover Poecology

Issue 1

 


Monica Regan

 

the fleet, precious hours

    all of us here alive this day due in part to coincidence of blossoming with   natural selection    blest refiner of the human                        inside the body   a man dreams of plowing a field                 long, swaggering, low slung             presented to her wondering senses                             the cord that bound her to the earth “Is my baby healthy?”                Hush, now                      cells continue


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while the modern all-electronic       uncertainty principle                                  a bold step indeed gives exact agreement with experiment “We are dying, all dying” instruments for mastering the unknown: what once seemed to them a “ heavy” subject miraculously converted with the all-out signal to search for truth, to develop, and to create                     against the vagaries of Nature Yes, Mother food, fodder, and fiber can now be grown without soil, without rain, without sunlight and the new “Atom Smasher” brings us close to unlocking the problem of how heredity works                          which men instinctively approve beyond that, the dreams grow mammoth all of this is naturally now a restricted area


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you picked a beautiful year to visit in the languid story of the times a strong shade of degeneracy is visible the men in white tie and tails, the women in their best gowns and jewelry can’t you just see their eyes light up? and so on back goodness knows how many generations in progress, like a marching band on parade day they never stop or change direction see their mouths open and close? compare to the jackal who is said to follow the steps and to devour the leavings of the lion indeed, in the unequal context, the violence which they inflict or suffer is celebrated as the spontaneous effect of reason and virtue their ends always legitimate? quite right a lovely view, but watch your step now the tide’s coming in


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the verb ‘to be,’ potential mood, past perfect tense becomes worn and attenuated when history            drastically marked down                             unlooses its excoriation nothing but ifs, ifs, ifs!               despite the capability to see at a distance our own future close folded still


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                                          looking back, looking ahead necessarily and drastically disturbs the fleet, precious hours      dazzlingly white and sky filling           from beyond the reach of the human eye small apertures arranged in a spiral pattern                                  dissect the original light a brilliance touched with tender attention these operating principles in service around the world interrupt the monochrome      images of red, green, and blue used predominantly for mass communication                         though we seldom transmit                                    to the damp and sunless places                          by God, we should


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slept the season all away on mounds beside those which mark an aimless life years richly freighted disappeared into a clump of buses, barrooms, bordellos                 how precious the boon!        at a price, we become warped                                           Rockefeller is the epitome of it               yearling bull in the market (the farther your dollar has to go) for the “Survival of Quality” two bald-headed men play billiards with saucer faces                       chalk one up for the Empire            laughing as the children fight over it ready to meet all comers


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           the vanishing American like a tipsy king with his crown a-totter           hatching little plots to get amazing 3-way control which eliminates shimmy and sidesway      among opposition voices studying our democratic Law of Nature so much smoother cooked scientifically and vacuum packed                 can’t jerk or buck or clash              knock wood—                                                           we have seen it become a shackled thing


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“If our surroundings were entirely to our tastes, we should have no in centives to exertion.”
in the living conditions of a nation          potent forces just being released                                                                                                                          hastily toward the city
by Autumn, more than 10,000       tenanted the rabble that have walked into an abandoned palace              in patrician evening gowns                                                                                                                           and red gabardine as to the eventual outcome                   parachute flares                                        flowing dead-white sand and water to smother the pum pum pum            told the crowds of dancers shaking the plaster out of their clothes


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Is there not action in all this? hear the moments rushing by, but our dull brain                                     distorts                                     glassy quiet                             at center whose voice had long been hushed lost in the deep shading of words the mind is not transparent enough for the thought that the universe was self-created or is eternal evening draws on no heart unsullied we must tread the thorny places persistently flout the rigid armor which takes us out of ourselves Oh do stay, won’t you?


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we have conquered gravity! liberating ourselves from the earth’s magnetic field sky-happy adventurers looked back on us lost ground? a fail-safe device in space satellites, global positioning promises an end to disorientation no attention required see there, right there—the sinewy body reduced to a tiny black dot


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THE NEW U.S. ROYAL                        with some interest in social reform and a beautiful young wife wrestles             two modern realities honor is a really important word in paralyzed isolation it will certainly take a beating even the devil himself with his own four horses is no world shaker but a welcome digression from         thinking in one direction                  with new questions every day this country is in for a lot of original sinning this spring


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energy can change form but cannot be created or destroyed                       by accident, miscalculation or madness still, according to the rosiest estimate each year pouring a rusty flood sneezing and coughing as dust fills sky with a pink flash let’s not waste a second big and little feet trample tender the topography now blank with people we are going to s-t-r-e-t-c-h out and away towards the green


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asked to bear witness to a state of mind or feeling of whose existence no physical evidence proves we float and sing and play in “immortal hilarity” fail to consider what happened to Hope’s bouquets after a few days while unattended, the source (with a gift inside) goes completely dry in fact, it really wasn’t until the butterflies flew away— eventually, man creates his own self portrait in the fields


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the probability concept which has known bondage and wilderness-wandering is yet firmly entrenched in physical thought together with its tendency toward degeneration the tragic-faced chorus massed like bees in swarming time                                     watch it                                 search the arid shore                                                                               only to fall weakly back where there might be bread life held on                                (gummy as circus mud)


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dead reckoning is the oldest method not a matter of if, but when an endpoint hits its mark           the final door unhinges        eyes full of darkness, wiped me out like chalk on a chalkboard here, all live ghosts slip from their casings    the husks left behind are freely       converted and consumed in the cause of renewed becoming                      identified with all the constituents of the universe


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sold at a price to         stay in orbit? the world      turned in daily strife where demolition squads and all its conquered countries combined plowed through windrowed ice crash went the tall dark singing was the last exercise could ‘it’ have been glad? overhead the tender blue                          leaped gigantically                                          wedged the door shut with splinters from itself                                              ------------------ Composed entirely of fragments from texts salvaged at the San Francisco dump. Source materials: Adams, Mrs. J.S. Branches of Palm. Boston: Adams & Co, 1866. Chater, Melville. The Land of the Stalking Death: A Journey Through Starving Armenia on an American Relief Train. The National Geographic
Magazine November 1919. Hertzberg, Arthur. Judaism. New York: George Braziller, 1962. The Harper Encyclopedia of Science, Volume III: M through R, 1963. Gibson, Edward. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Vol. VI. Boston: Philips, Sampson and Company, 1856. LIFE April 28, 1941. LIFE May 24, 1968. LIFE Winter 1988. Wiggin, Kate Douglas. Rebecca of Stonybrook Farm. New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1910.