Syllabic verses by Patrick Williams
Ohm Sweet Ohm
A thing does not have to make sense for you
to resist it. Resistors: in electronics,
critical circuit elements
that bias active things; they can adjust
and reduce any meaningless signal.
They are likely doing so this very
moment, on your person or adjacent.
A dumb reminder that any signal
that flows through you gets touched. A thing does not
have to make sense for you to resist it.
On Ingest
Someday I will be as brave as cops are
when they swallow bullets for whatever
reason cops swallow bullets for. I'll gulp
down twin hearing aid batteries each week
once they've emitted their tiny cry and
I'll forget all the things they helped me hear.
When I speak, my ears tire quickly, my jaw
gets sore. When I'm silent, I know the guts
in these mirror-sliver pills decay as
pale aura in diminuendo fuzz.
One Note Corpse Pose
I am the arid foresummer I wish
to see in the world. At altitudes of
6,000 feet above agreed-upon
sea-level, that's eleven weeks for sure.
I bring along a camera, you bring
along a book. Sunglasses and raincoats
in both our totes. Also, jarred marmalade,
sleeves of saltines, a chunk of parmesan.
All essential not because each item
is necessary, but because in each
is held a quantum of our essences.
A thing does not have to make sense for you
to resist it. Resistors: in electronics,
critical circuit elements
that bias active things; they can adjust
and reduce any meaningless signal.
They are likely doing so this very
moment, on your person or adjacent.
A dumb reminder that any signal
that flows through you gets touched. A thing does not
have to make sense for you to resist it.
On Ingest
Someday I will be as brave as cops are
when they swallow bullets for whatever
reason cops swallow bullets for. I'll gulp
down twin hearing aid batteries each week
once they've emitted their tiny cry and
I'll forget all the things they helped me hear.
When I speak, my ears tire quickly, my jaw
gets sore. When I'm silent, I know the guts
in these mirror-sliver pills decay as
pale aura in diminuendo fuzz.
One Note Corpse Pose
I am the arid foresummer I wish
to see in the world. At altitudes of
6,000 feet above agreed-upon
sea-level, that's eleven weeks for sure.
I bring along a camera, you bring
along a book. Sunglasses and raincoats
in both our totes. Also, jarred marmalade,
sleeves of saltines, a chunk of parmesan.
All essential not because each item
is necessary, but because in each
is held a quantum of our essences.
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Patrick Williams is a poet and academic librarian living in Central New York. His recent work appears or is forthcoming in publications including The Bennington Review, Public Pool, Sea Foam Magazine, and Posit. His chapbook Hygiene in Reading (Publishing Genius, 2016) was awarded the 2015 Chris Toll Memorial Prize. He edits Really System, a journal of poetry and extensible poetics and is the hands behind typewriter.city. Find him at patrickwilliamsintext.com and on Twitter @activitystory.
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