Tripping Up the Clinical Escher Laboratory, or, how I survived a class field trip
Grandma Jolly’s silver spoon outlasted her—
—but lived again; This time trash reservoir-erected
inside the belly of Shiny Space Case,
hammered down, pinned to make.
Rusted tin can grooved into a 70s recycle bin—
blasted back into a bust of Picasso’s music man.
(The professor never knew where it landed, that that
tuna lid led itself onto Ohio’s wealthiest wall.)
Frankenstein’s tombstone shocked out of mold—
electric shimmer, false tag, giving the cemetery
what no concrete obelisk can conjure.
(Why can’t the doctor and the monster be One?)
Rasta flag rotini-ed behind the false flag—
of political oppression and problem, reaction,
solution. Covered, held, hugged by the protective
nurturing Hand of Umbrella Corp.
White-horned beast, captured, stuck to the ether—
ether the Pure Man seized from the desert air
on a spiritual quest never finished. That mask
of the monster stares still, beckoning gallery fops near.
(Had some fun after our experience today modeling my own creative process for the students. Always a best practice to show them our own struggles through a piece of writing; this one inspired by Noah Purifoy’s Junk Dada. Might revise for a second draft to show students the improvements made.)
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