Rene Descartes Carves a Clock-Sized Cube of Wax from a Car-Sized Cube of Wax

it is a new type

jigsaw puzzle

the monochromatic horizon off-white

and theskyisblack

the monochromatic horizon infinite snow/fieldflat

and the distance

betweeen

-

My grandmother microwaves coffee

All day she microwaves coffee

My grandmother reheats coffee with the microwave that

she finds leftover one-inch-to-coffee-level, brown ringed cups

with cutesy pictures and words like “whenindoubt, addwine”

she finds

in the car, on the nightstand, by the tv

she finds leftover coffee

in the microwave that she forgot about

that she heard the microwave bell

and forgot about anyway.

-

Rene Descartes is ornate action figure porcelain wax

that he sets near the fire—the cube—

the fire melts tearful wax cube

into a new type

of jigsaw puzzle.

Descartes leads a length of twine through

his candle.

Rene Descartes returns to car-sized cube of wax, singing

~~~ “I’m on a plain” ~~~

-

Half hours pass by. Multiple half hours and one-and-a-half-hours

Oxford creates a word that means “everything” but includes “nothing”

Webster rejects it.

The word was “what”

It was a substitution for “what” and it was “what.”

-

Rene Descartes has a crow bar, mallet,

and carves “lol” into a car-sized-cube-of-wax.

Descartes satisfied

carves “lolol”

satisfies,

“-ol” satisfied “-ol” satisfied “-ol” satisfied “-ol” satisfied

finally,

backs up ten steps to behold his

a new type

it REAds

“whatatatatatatat”

scratches head, shrugs, ties shoe laces on

ornate porcelain shoes made in Hebron IL

-

I am looking at my reflection in a cell phone

stacks of books, and a pile of love letters,

other papers, biology is also

reflected behind me.

I keep thinking, I’ll get to that

I’ll get to that,-I’m getting to that,-there are things I’m getting to

I keep leaving coffee in the microwave.

I keep hearing the bell. and thinking. and doing. and leaving coffee

there.

-

I stomp on an animal

I’m stomping and stomping on an/the animal

but the animal is in my dream and

it keeps

never leads a combustion, it keeps existing

dream stuff is the soul, it seems.

It’s wax.

wax ssssssss

Here's a picture of me reading this poem.

Taken by Wesley Bushby.