Assemblage – Flo Reynolds

you’re your own cyborg ecology
say hello vital assemblage!
together we can rule the galaxy
as soon as we decide our collective noun

+ you too can choose radical softness
kidneys of cat-flesh
mattress of mattress-flesh
chasm of despondency
tundra of ennui
things ‘i’ lie on / things that act on ‘me’

walk down the street + drop your mother tongue

blackbird says his danger sneeze
because the white cat entered into the same intimacy
up there
under the skirt of god 

god caught the sneeze like a yawn
against all laws of probability

so come to us this reed moon
bristling with a cornucopia of the skins we shed in the wildlife pond
i shall know thee through the ghosts of those bodies
which will emanate all around us to form a cushioned trellis
onto which we’ll glue chitinous eggs
+ the eggs will display a chatoyancy
that has gone unseen for many moons 

what the white cat can hear:
the voice of the velvet cushion

what the white cat knows:

 how to be the white cat:
stand beside the white cat

+ it came to pass –
though what the white cat unleashed upon this mortal coil no man can tell
that the group sworn to live + die as poets
stayed worryful + woeful
in the face of the kind of animism
that shows the hackles of the universe
rise up against your adolescent greed –
+ save but one were sadly waylaid 

the neighbourhood’s moustache clippings gather in romantic drifts
the white cat is unperturbed, remains charismatic

enter a band
elite retainers, trained to see
the state of many bodies + their rapports
that composition / troubling intimacy / pollution
demands complicity
Chaos that marks the white cat’s wake
+ attend to art in trying times
as times tend

a great emptiness overwhelms me 

the white cat meows its making
occurrences occur
[conflagrations, eruptions, bush fires, severe weather warnings
many hundreds of man hours lost to unauthorized absences]
the bells of a drowned church ring out in the valley
the vomit of centuries shoots into the mouth of the present 

the white cat saunters through the garden of mother julian
the parasites of the white cat saunter through the body of the white cat
the white cat is dignified in its molecules
the paw of the white cat is the size of a snail
the world’s taste is white hot ash