Medieval Futures
Lou Shafer
October 6, 2019
@
Final Hot Desert
Little Cottonwood Canyon
Sandy, Utah
yolk spilling out of the first prosthetic uterus : in splintering flecks of refraction : warm cells leaning against one another for comfort in osmosis : touch screens are birds’ nests waiting to bear the fruit of rapture : rare earth tablets have and always will be pressing against the palms of oracles : rotten and refurbished, lazy and touched, radioactive half- life : mapping mapping mapping the way to mother : material mid migration : holocenic uterus : runes written in torus-shaped gelatin, layer upon filament layer, unreadable until sliced, every slice decaying in translation : elevating the spirits of the starved goddess of godless twilight ages : a mother spider’s intricate web, twisted and rolled into a ball, the arachnid onlooking, dreaming ecstasy while awake : cramping stomach knots so tight that they become comfortable tumors, sad to see them taken out of me and drenched in hazy digital cellophane where they hang... with sifting, lazy smiles : toddlers’ foreheads gently pressed together in meditation of familial alienation : concentric sonic forces billowing from the point of space where just the right cells are close enough to each other to notice their own size : resin chimes/dowsing rods never used : both blowing in the gentle midnight breeze : sophia in the distance : the bedroom mirror of a graceful, appendageless, alien ballerina, her innards dancing in cosmic complacency : memory foam dreams : the scale of your own fingers decreasing as they stretch through acrylic polymer grids, becoming enveloped in psychic tension, liquid dripping upward from their tips : hot pink swollen maternity totems, carved from whale-song stone
