Sunday, November 21, 2021

Mesh by Maureen N. McLane


Everything in the world
has a name
if you know it.
You know that.
The fungus
secreting itself
from the bark
is Colt’s Hoof.
The dignity
of cataloguers
bows before code.
The thing
about elements—
they don’t want
to be split
Every time
I collide with your mind
I give off—
something happens—
we don’t know what
Particles, articles
this bit, a bit
digital, simple
fission, fusion
—a great vowel shift.
I saw the world
dissolve in waves
the trees as one
with the sun
and their shadows.
The trees on the shore
the trees in the pond
branch in the mind
The screech of the subway
decelerating its knife
into the brain
of all riders
In the morning the hummingbird
In the evening five deer
Why should I feel bad
about beauty?
The postmodernists
are all rational
& sad though they mug
in zany gear.
Everyone knows
what is happening.
They disagree why
& what then.
It turns out
the world was made for us
to mesh.

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