*Progress report/incommensurability address*

I witnessed the mistake,
watched you take the circle
of the seasons and stretch it out.

You pulled at the structure. You stood
in line, hummed
to disguise the anxiety of falling,
like your father fell and his father
and the others before them.

You fuckers—
the artistry of ignorance
requires you, I suppose.

Remember the room, the one
into which you forced
the machinery of a new era?
You dressed us in drag.
You videotaped us:
concrete and abstract, you
forgot what went where.
But, go ahead, you like to watch.
Link us together, we can fake it.
Come on: unify, capitalize,
and be delirious.

Here’s a matter of relativity—
I do not exist.
Here’s another matter of relativity—
I do.

Whatever you need, princess.

Have you become privy
to the plan’s emptiness?
Nah.
At the bar you gaze at the legs
of women who bring you pints of beer
and plates of pig flesh.
You pay with grunts and choke on hair.
Choke and drown
out the constants
with the pounding of modern invention.
The whores are content, are they not?

I mean, don’t get me wrong,
you have sarcomas and skyscrapers.
But purgation? Another concern.
So, plant the stars like seeds
and ejaculate when the structures sprout.
But, friend, after you wash,
measure your cock and tell me
if it has grown.