By Travis Macdonald
He melts through time like a statue. & he breaks at
the bloody riddle with his boomerang decoder.
forget the howling mirror which he channels to a
ring. he dreamed it was a mine. it wasn’t, really.
no, child: existence is never kissed sincerely. is
never carried up the clever ache of a spine you all
but built of murder. this arrow is part torch & part
wave. not a concertina bonfire. no base flare sent to
disarm a sparkler. my messages won’t require an
intent: a disguise sent & improper.
*A note on process: this poem was composed by rearranging the words of another into an entirely new order and form. This poem was composed from & Now My Feet Are Maps, “& this the riddle of his existence…”
Travis Macdonald was recently named a 2014 Pew Fellow in the Arts. He is the author of two full-length books – The O Mission Repo [vol.1] (Fact-Simile Editions) and N7ostradamus (BlazeVox Books) – as well as several chapbooks, including: Basho’s Phonebook (E-ratio), BAR/koans (Erg Arts), Sight & Sigh (Beard of Bees), Time (Stoked Press) and Hoop Cores (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press).
Photograph by Michelle Johnsen, Light Painting