r  o  d  r  i  g  o  t  o  s  c  a  n  o


Swivillization and its bearings grinding—listen.

Cylindrical vertical shaft to a flat disk
—expansive—beveled, bolt-mounted clarity of surface,
tortion, dramatic layout, world.

Rotating Superfly Periodista writes that bearings are born in bearing-maker’s alley.

Rotating Superfly Periodista is correct.

Swivillization and its bearings grinding—sounding out.

Politically Correct has always been fair play—all around, in that it means to ramp-up a
preceding narrative—so that it might proceed to a counter-dominant current—that if honed,
correct, or not, as the narrative’s intent to transform is—we’ve duly noted, and have
—is on its way.

Pissing in the toilet instead of on it—is correct.

Determined to flush out the empirical side of it, pier 49, Guangdong, 12 hour shifts the walk-
off’s daily the roundups hourly the pulse of fear second by second related word by word as
expressed by 99 cent mops in Brooklyn that last a week.

That much he knows and that his life has dribbled out its last soixante-huite hurrah.

That much its accumulated effective swerve toward the point of

Below the shaft is a double-notched mounted triangular tangle of angular solid iron—turbine.

The social function of the Turbine is determined by the power motor, the power motor by
the fuel hose, the support hose’s fine mesh is achieved by infusing small amounts of liquid
rayon the droplets sticking to their forearms, 200 of them streaming out of hangar 48,

Causal Description gives the worker-reader a much needed workout and that he or she resists
it is because of the ease of swivillization and its disconnects—on the sphere, flat, rotating,
distracted, nervous, fickle, but true.

True, Superfly Periodista could be tracking it in sections, flying fractions of world, 2,000
shots per second, yet, Superfly has to make a calculation as to its

General Motion.

Corollary being that consciousness does not depend on either self-embroglio’d poetic or
academically-encased temporalities.

And thus, in agèd accents, a stranger in the audience asks:

“of us, present here, which of us stands imputed so?
are we
as to
which is

to lash out at all? or forestall?
to a love of all? or forestall?”

And Superfly, in slightly less agèd accents, responds:

“in this my neighborhood, in this my city, my country, on this my daedalian
disk—flat—beveled, bolt-mounted clarity of surface, distortion, dramatic layout,

Another stranger pipes up:

“Neruda might say the bearing makers are his Madres de Grafito y Hierro Palpitantes—by the
millions, that they cradle him, that through the svelte-leopard night—rocks it, humanity.”

And a third stranger:

“to slinky-dink at all—enthrall?
of a slicky-slack of all—enthrall?”

But the empirical evidence gathered without correct Dialection of the Social is like a mop
without a handle, hard on the knees.

Conversely, correct Dialection without empirical evidence is like a mop without a sponge,
hard on the aesthetics of acetate flooring.

The narrative so far diagrammatically alludes to the earth as a flat disk mechanically rotated
instead of a lush sphere afloat in space elliptically around the sun.

Of so many substances
Future Poetry’s

Of so many instances
ball-bearing rollers’

And that we are like bearings, support-swivellings, grinding on, our tropes.

And that we rotate—like a CPU fan, clamped on and cooling.

And that we swivel—like a utility desk chair, poly-angular, free but for the screen.

“Build Nature!”

“Nurture Building!”

As photons from the spastic sun pelt the sa
ame hemisphere, comrades report from Caracas:

Las Comités Montañeras—on fire!

Of so many assemblies—confederative, careen towards Dual Government.

Collective work tied to collective product’s circulationÉscrap wood to the central pile, some
to the flame...tawny smoke over the city hills.

systolic necessity, diastolic
fortune. ...

To have heart
in the face of confusion.

unto the matter present.

around Carthage.

A cheap pair of support pantyhose.

A transnational relay.

A democratic assembly.

unto the Blap Blap.

unto the Blip Blip.

The Need-Gene

The need-gene is minimally mover volatile animus heinous and hoary sub- national navigational instrument the need-gene is non-biologic organismo chingón strong sinewy fragile unto it all’s animate the back-up generator lamp shining on it the ac ventilation crazily unaware of itself the advent of society for you is this corpus constructs a laughing expanse where one stick figure erect in a hasty clip along 14th street non-diffuse the outline frighteningly clear-cut add that gentle buffetings of western air on said corpus pierce to the pituitary of our c-mos battery analogy keeps the system in sync hormonally the humors tell of it captured by it the charm is of it captured by it super-fluidity comes of it cupidity of ferocious in the chest just felt we had to shake down all the absurd bodiless pomp again governed at the very edge of the world this spot often an eager companion grammatically hot-wires for you wanting to want the writer’s life is not exclusively solitary nor exclusively dizzily social but a lot of concentration’s required must be embraced in the end defeated partly by the wounds of socially indolent over-determined structured traps that leaning over cupping the warm sand just then watching the grains slowly funnel down the palm many of the grains flying off and settling variously the seashore re-soaks them firm again the resolve to bodies known and bodies unknown to propagate not of the birthing cycle per say but something else in that the need-gene the launch-point moment-one in motion already born into it the flow of it you are and you thought this guy was all about labor slugging but consider for a flash my fellow atomist material spunker the insomnia of exchange-values walking cacophonous world its images disease pain loss and barbarous war without let up a how to the bullocks of it can you a how to the buttocks of it will you and that it’s not about whitman or neruda nor even ginsberg this galloping coast-to-coast line we admire porn folks just the same non-corporate linguini-like oily twistings glowing ruddy-green skinned sizzling belles and bozos check it you have to ask but answer too if this text is a way of settling-in for the way things are or if it’s edging somehow elsewhere the answer might implicitly be several national power-blocs speaking through various filters but almost certainly a trade-pact supported inlay and it looks indeed like I forgot to properly develop that need-gene thing and if that’s poetry with it’s under-developed ripe-rotten truths then. 

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RODRIGO TOSCANO is the author of To Leveling Swerve (Krupskaya Books, 2004), Platform (Atelos, 2003), The Disparities (Green Integer, 2002) and Partisans (O Books, 1999). His work has recently appeared in Best American Poetry, 2004 (Scribner's) and War and Peace (O Books, 2004) and In the criminal's cabinet: An anthology of poetry and fiction. His poetry has been translated into French, German, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian. He was poetry co-coordinator for The Social Mark symposium in Philadelphia (2003). Toscano is originally from San Diego, California. He now lives in Brooklyn, NY.