Wednesday, April 27, 2016

About Concept (Last Words Of Pancho Villa)

                                               "Christian devotional literature indeed 
                                                quite floats in milk, thought of from the
                                                point of view, not of the mother, but of
                                                the greedy babe."
                                                                                William James

About concept who knows motive or pure chance
when strange particles meet and dance?

But birth—is that involuntary?

Face facts: breasts are minimal secretion
with the ease of Eden and umbilical tree.

If you want milk, tend goats, 
voices bleating from some far other world,
even ours, for that is the nature of  language.

Is not infantile eye nipple and aureole?

So where this fear of ending segmentally like a worm
and becoming infinitesimal term shorter-lived than a butterfly?

Is  it walking by Christian Science on the way to Irish mass?

Or the reverse?

I ask you: Delta X/Delta Y?   

Ask any  woman: has she ever really recuperated
from the intransigent moon, from unforgiven affairs with Lord Gravity?

Count Babel.
Count Bible.
Count Baboon.

Count stamina in corn, count rolls in the hay
in barns festooned with moon.

But you may reply in tongue-tied far north diphthong: 

That is long gone. We are scientific now with no jumping over the moon.
We have reliable  tables....”

So  pass monkeys from abstract here to abstract there
(everywhere an abstract), 
descending again and again to ad hominem

Do you know something that we don't know
and can't calculate?  Come, speak your mind.”

Clock ticks.

Draw a bead on the last breath of Pancho Bellísimo,
scourge magnificent of The Old West,
shot to hell in the backseat of a 1923 Dodge:

¡Ponga que dije algo, carajo!”

To wit:

Goddamnit! Tell them I said something!”

no one
on this planet
earth of the time
doubted he had acted.

So, I ask you, what heroes be we without fear,
what gloriously simian inconsequence
rippling in bent space into sphere!

Consider then again and again

your bullet holes blown into zero.

E. A. Costa (April 2013--27 April, 2016 from E. A.Costa, The Bennington Collection)

E. A. Costa     April 27, 2016  Granada, Nicaragua

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