Architectural Digest (Martha Rosler)

"The contemplation of things as they are, without substitution or imposture, without error or confusion, is in itself a nobler thing than a whole harvest of invention." Francis Bacon
McBride Avenue, Paterson, NJ, April 2020

“The contemplation of things as they are, without substitution or imposture, without error or confusion, is in itself a nobler thing than a whole harvest of invention.” Francis Bacon

a preponderance of glimmer

flutters from north to south

diamonds sewn into family photos

as though around the collarbone

anything goes in time five cut pears

scintillate sword to sword with shopworn verbs

a sea battle takes place

may i describe the room? cactus

flower haphazards beside something unripe 

a bowl of collapsing gravity for example the ship 

is our second home the minimalist masterpiece

crawls in the mirror with her small

white daughters gorgeous hardware well

paid ten great american painters

forgotten their brilliant nonces

advertise the always profitable

transgressive breasts in ibiza

no one could prevent

house beat mingles

with big capital one vibes and donald

judd atelier a table of logical laws on

a chair of metaphysical necessities 

in chalk harbors sandy 

short shorts granite hardware i said existence 

and the nature of god the superflower 

causal for profit and pleasure

in a foxhole high above chelsea

as it rushes through an elongated

coruscate electrified discharge field

blitzed with images of the italian

sense of beauty this exists: a short list 

of things a poet names lost

therefore it is futile to consult a doctor

or an arms dealer

Isabel II in Exile

Wikipedia Poem, No. 967

understand ennobling forsaken;
struck down, despair; perplexed, in all.

you angels chase wilderness of blood
the rest hard-press to understand thee.

earnest of blood inters irrelevance.

i bet you can see everything you search for
the wall the well the lakes of bit blood the low aftness
crushed; perplexed, in all.

you’re not the death mirrors
the holocaust, naked child running from work
unexpected understanding, the truth you are
the death mirrors singing and ennobling
you can see everything the hard-pressed red herring.

a bit of instant low afternoon sun
hides behind a pig farmer with sophisticated emotional truth
now the watermelon sun hides behind a pig farmer naked
running from blood fixative the wall the low afternoon crushed; perplexed.

inaudacious despair; perplexed, is all.

you search for the low afternoon sun hiding behind a pig farmer
with sophisticated understated military threat of it—both ways—the wall
melts into a blanket of dead fish.

the hardness crushed; perplexed in despair;
perplexed, in front of a red house beautiful
the hard-press truth of god wildernet—the next good
the next good the hardness crushed, perplexed, in all.

you rarely find a pig farmer with this level of sophistication
today in pictures of literary devices it was not deep necessarily
the hardness of it was death which is ennobling for some
the poplar tree.

god, hard-pressed hung on the wall with a bit of blood, they got threatened
the second they stepped foot on our tarmac it was a literary
development alongside the confident wall the hardness of it all.

you angels chase wilderness: the perfect poplar tree, tallest god, the true holocaust, the most nude pig farmer running from fields of labor, the men too deep on too much information, the movies ennobling el partido de la porra prove you search for the dead on purifying force el partido you need too many angels