Because I must take pleasure in
my own debasement or the love
of others for themselves destroyed
on public screens and in public arms

                  It is pleasurable. Not must
                  but joy which debases. Wanting
                  not the wrong things but to want them
                  Wanting to buy the churchkey

separately, for example
because it is sold that way
This profligacy built into desire

                  shimmers above the things of the world
                  It is a lovely advertisement
                  And I mean that, truly
                  I am in love with its marketing strategy

To circulate a life within
the pure products of our abjection
like glitter made from pulverized landfill

                  It gets everywhere
                  when you know how to look

But let that be a private way to love
dependent on the loss of privacy
Because I must it is pleasurable
There’s nothing like it in the world

The violence of / unbroken communication / has made me sovereign
                  – Marianne Morris

Yesterday it was
Marianne’s obsession with
present tense

The failure of being
able to imagine
a future as revolution’s
panic button taped-

Today I finally understood
color-matching forgeries
in an art detective’s
haptic dream

The trees with their
Days of Heaven
refusal to be seen
outside the golden hour

A refusal of poverty
gilded by the guilt
and burnt upward like
money on fire

I see without rejecting
what I see
which is either
the solar principle of

Or some pyrite scrim above
a lux of common
thought conferred
on vying particulars

This currency between us
and its abolition beyond
a present of unbreachable

That is the ceiling
of representation
burning in the wind

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