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The Monday Aardvark of
Laundry
In the heat of the moment: a dynasty
of socks
comes out of the dryer: a cubist pyramid
flat black jays
huddle of Christians, depleted,
nothing but flat black faith
in inevitability of martyrdom
85%
cotton blend
Afghani women before and after
a detonation
static cling
in the heat of the moment
Magnified results: dynasty of ants adhering
to an aardvark’s tongue,
land masses congregating, magnetically attracted to
magnetic north
greater than the sum of them. Static electricity linked
to magnetism
when Thales documented its properties in 600 BCE in
Greece, the mathematician
rubbed amber with animal fur, con passione, con vivace,
and then the amber attracted
objects. When I rub my skin with animal musk
derivatives,
I attract some men. Straw and feathers stuck to the
Thalian amber.
See tar and feathering.
See what tar looks like under the microscope.
Mighty pretty.
There is a tarry cosmos.
Honey could support the clustering of socks,
a huddle in the storm of hot wind in the dryer.
Hot wind from every direction.
Lint proceeds
like the life sucked out, separation
of body from necessity,
socks a sloppy spire,
well-meant, poorly executed hive, construct
of admirers
of bees and hornets, but no true bee and hornet
aptitude,
a critique of desire.
Still, the clinging is elegant
con passione, con vivace
Execution of the impulse to cling is elegant.
The way so many things hold on, the way so many hold on
to things
well beyond usefulness
where the only thing there
is elegance
in isolation
pure
desperation
con passione, con vivace
because of the elegance of holding on, not wanting to
forsake
an elegance which may be clung to.
Think of how many had to disintegrate
to become the very dust
that clogs some channels meant to access elegance.
So they huddle, completely covered with the essence
that is sock
only sock
Evidence of what occupied the sock
is all washed clean away
to the naked eye
fresh to the naked nose
Distilled
Hive of socks.
No sense of world without it, the tessellation, the fit
together into the one thing
comfortably called existence,
call on the hive, all the cells, to call it
this series of cubicles that confirms
(possibility of) infinity, antidote to a mere
hive of socks.
Mere
Veils, magnified by some power short of God,
reveal their grand hived structure.
The lattice life of socks
prevails is veiled by the scale
at which we perceive
heaven, where affairs are conducted by winged versions
and beings,
like a beehive, honey of heaven and paradise
notwithstanding.
The house the bees live in a series of
six-sided cells made of beeswax.
The wax is secreted from glands of 2-3 week old
worker bees.
Elder believers
Beeswax is almost pure white when secreted.
It is then chewed
and formed into the cells. No one has been able
to force bees
to produce wax nor can it be made synthetically.
The real deal
in the year of resolution
the year that wings of the two-winged fuse
and they glide through the air with a bleached shark fin
that looks heavenly from every angle
at every scale, is a scale
and is very lucky
as this won’t happen again,
excessively clogged lint trap
extreme likelihood of fire,
so imminent, so becoming.
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