Josh Bloecker

Dispatched poetry and pieces transmitted to receipt, with ghosts in the signal.

[joshbloecker]

The Product of Need

It’s a quiver in cold morning that can only belong to air, but arrives with the presence of a body all the same.

Islands with strips of ocean between them - the water always absent violent tide shifts between them - overtaking land from the eastern extremities of California westward, if you know the door.

Those who cannot find the door or will not be allowed, have dreams and that’s where the market can reintroduce need.

Make the product:

On her knees, at eight.

Tongue skills have to start on time; by age six.

Order is ours to give.

[joshbloecker]

Stalking Fate

It’s a matter of engineered celestial mechanics yielding a believed, base level falsehood.

There to be discovered, championed and used to frame all acceptable thoughts on the matter, to be the unseen template defining your development.

It’s times spent vacillating, considering two possible outcomes to any decision, yielding an internalized physical structure.

There to remain undiscovered, to wreak havoc, and used to justify your faltering brain - your withering self.

It’s a space impossible to traverse, a faulty appraisal of distance, yielding a topic impossible to broach.

There to be lost to gravity, to structure its fallen silence, and used to eliminate anything you would have said as you open your mouth to speak.

[joshbloecker]

Stalking Fate

It’s a matter of engineered celestial mechanics yielding a believed, base level falsehood.

There to be discovered, championed and used to frame all acceptable thoughts on the matter, to be the unseen template defining your development.

It’s times spent vacillating, considering two possible outcomes to any decision, yielding an internalized physical structure.

There to remain undiscovered, to wreak havoc, and used to justify your faltering brain - your withering self.

It’s a space impossible to traverse, a faulty appraisal of distance, yielding a topic impossible to broach.

There to be lost to gravity, to structure its fallen silence, and used to eliminate anything you would have said as you open your mouth to speak.

[joshbloecker]

Empirical / Imperial Timing

Counting a world into its pieces, recording each crossing and shift in velocity at every pass, thusly we will quantify anything; note, appraise, and question its interval, defining results as what they discover crumbles four walls.

“What time is it?”

“It looks late - and no longer turning the world as if it revolves around us, we’d love to pretend it’s early.”

[joshbloecker]

Welcome

Making a wide enough birth was a clamp on two pieces of epidermis stretching open once the scalpel had cut deep enough, with red droplets pouring to thin streams trailing down skin where it doesn't stick to the pores running until the blood rivulets break, and tither drop by drop into tiny pools that clog the roots of body hair.

A shift-prone body claiming to be the seat of mastery, built out of dark that steals light, with eyes made of nothing but red shine that can grow and takeover the entire inside of its form, separated itself from the dimmer corners of the room once it opened those eyes then it flexed its fingers, extending its shadow arms forward while interlacing one black hand into the other, and pushing its death-black palms outward.

As it approached the center of the room unseen, the chrome of the surgeon's spotlight made reflections brighten.

[joshbloecker]

Could Have Seen It Sooner

The problem was that blue light bulb, the thickening mist because it was getting later, this goddamned blue lightbulb was the only light and we had lost the keys.

Hours just feet from the base of the stoop bending over grass, until we were kneeling on cushions of watered lawn to serve as ground, until we were on all fours, palms or fingers sometimes slipping and avoiding our shadows.

When we were supposed to be coming home.

[joshbloecker]

Ruminations of Piety

In a crowded room overtaken by an uncountable number of conversations all carried on at high enough volumes to be heard, among some of the people here drinking deliberately who are belligerent enough to brave the intimacy of whispering a secret, it is said,

“I’ve never told anyone this before…”

(“She” -whichever- doesn’t remember what she said next.) The response:

“Everything anyone can say is already known.”

-A comment that arranges particulars in the surrounding to such a succinct degree light glints off the speaker’s eyes, and without having been there you have to wonder if it was meant to be heard, indeed it might have been,

“You’re confusing coy with stoic.”

Stricken by an all-at-once awareness of the flesh in her arms - each cell between bone and skin rattles slightly, as she passes her fingers through his hair across his forehead and it causes a softening in his chest. She rolls her eyes and withdraws her hand, then two or three people away,

“I feel so close to you now.”

“What was that?”

[joshbloecker]

Interdepartmental Academics - Overheard Exchange

“Why the funding proposition failed. No one wants to hear it, but we should listen.”

“Who wants to read it out loud then?”

“Turns out we did not need the knee high, or even thigh high socks - according their age to the responsive audience and calibrated selectively - we did not need the girls featured in the campaign to be nine, we did not need them in mini-skirts and a potentially fatal flaw was that they were all in matching schoolgirl uniforms. We did not need them in the aforementioned socks and patent dress flats, legs swinging off the edge of a dock, at the sea shore, early evening; sun lowering.”

“We needed the words of the argument.”

“God damned marketing.”

[joshbloecker]

Internal and External Entanglements

Organic to natural circumstance, the eye narrows its pupil as light brightens whether or not the eye’s open - is the theory - also, clouds can stretch until they desiccate to dry air over graves.

It’s how wind dries out the mouth.

[joshbloecker]

The Product of Need

It’s a quiver in cold morning that can only belong to air, but arrives with the presence of a body all the same.

Islands with strips of ocean between them - the water always absent violent tide shifts between them - overtaking land from the eastern extremities of California westward, if you know the door.

Those who cannot find the door or will not be allowed, have dreams and that’s where the market can reintroduce need.

Make the product:

On her knees, at eight.

Tongue skills have to start on time; by age six.

Order is ours to give.

[joshbloecker]

Given to Feel/Eyes Shut: Starlight

Our diligence in removing sentiment from intellect has yielded unexpected fallout. Demand increases and dreams decay, so completely subsumed and caught unawares, believing our reveries immune to their grasp. A tale as provocative and languid as a mountainous ridgeline, were you to have seen it. (I say this only to assure you I was there.) Development supplies procrastination or a thing quite misunderstood.

Clasp air to know touch.

Shine, frame, and clear the profundities of being alone. In a sense it’s what we bought, in a sense it’s what we were promised, opportunity to mistake constriction for the guidance of an ever watchful, caring parent. To be economical, call it legislation; committee; council, or the office. Wrists bound with fishing line. (So the camera won’t pick it up.) Properly flooded with light and seen with a heavy head.

Cover ears to know sound.

Deranging aesthetics to engage thought only after emotional triggers are pulled. Better said, arranging you, your every aspect, into a forced-upon countenance. Easy explanations and interpretations of common ground, from these we’ve forged our characters. A prolonged acrobatic performance demands tissues shocked by cold. (How much is frozen.) Solid discernment, I am married and we have not met physically.

Freeze nostrils to know scent.

Believing in structures built from disparate statues, expecting a seat at each other’s table, both lost in the same pantheon. Ornate artwork was displayed on these walls for so long that by some faculty our lessors consider miraculous the disintegrated images are now engraved in each pale square. Use these as affixed muse to stain glass. (Lost to supposition and found.) As to primary cause, our play eventually wasted time, if only to call this growth.

Numb tongues to know taste.

Forgive my late arrival. I was watching leaves in autumn, guessing which would fall next. Letting winter use my tears, be them of joy or sorrow, to amass my eyelashes. Tasting verdant spring passages, unexpectedly as I could falling into their embrace, and not continuing until the grounds permitted my next step. (Nothing scars like transition.) Drying out until cracked at the edges, baked until summer cooked off a part of my being.

Invoke the fifth.

(Answers all around you do not entrap.) Hard-pressed to know your heart using only your head, a lightless glow shines through everything and you first see sunset, second the dawn.

Starlight: Eyes Shut

[joshbloecker]

Substance and Poetry

Been sending new work to your family, it solves physics to the point of achieving consilience (the unity of knowledge), as applied to one topic and process. It is impossible to escape accumulating formulated patterns, drowning conveyances of import- and I am in conflict with procuring an income apart from what is owed:

A latent acknowledgement splinters kindling off a log at warm dusk, building into a puff of wood dust climbing air to take moisture from the worker’s mouth.

-It is of no material, something at the core freezes while the skin enflames and for this, galaxies of flesh gone aged and pale, in its fact:

For lack of a currency… forever subsumed.

A note to the future (continued):

Processes began ticking thoughts apart, reassigning them to holographic internal frames only the subconscious knows, and pairing smiles or scowls to shades emanated from their screens, over time it is proven:

Emotive structures are often only as solid as the weaves in that type of paper.

[joshbloecker]

ACTS OF THE DARK GODS

Frequencies allocated to multitudes in physical and temporal dimensions hosting tempests over unseen but sensed unnavigable oceans - unbound lines run through every gap concealed in folds of collapsing waves sputtering drops of thoughts and phantoms haunting internal entrances and trap doors, advancing from depths of shadow in your room to the black beneath your eyelids -thresholds rigged to be secretly crossed until inevitably, you as life become entangled.

(Then, what they’ll serve.)

Heroin liquefies psyche and psyche is epiphenomenon of the physical; consciousness concentrated to sentience bound to the filaments of neurons and axons throughout all somatic cells of the nervous system, coupled with less concentrated sentience bound to functions of all biological process. All cells metabolizing, no one is anything more. Heroin directs the physical to become liquid and the addict never sees it, but over time they’ll become convinced.

(Then, what they’ll do to for it on their knees.)

Eyes tracking appropriate to attention paid, sure, and that is consummate programmed function, perpetual; half of skull cavity houses resonant frequencies distinct to simulacrum of interior dimensions. Organic processing with all the bells unheard because phones have been dinging so long now no one counts it as sound, and the public couples, settling into groups of limited consensus. Set frequencies to distinction. It’s measured in their wallets. Blank out their eyes with light projected via resonant conveyance to overtake pupil function through optic nerves, tell them to close their eyes and tell them it’s their Creator.

(Then, what they’ll be made to pray for.)

Cocaine throttles to direct all cognitive function to instantaneous reason, which becomes the reeling, cool sizzling neurological component of conviction -then provide the structuring. Bound naked, noose around throat, with the rest of the rope used to hog-tie them, for example. Introduce them to the programming methods and their long term effects:

Memories of torture electrifying the onion-skin bible paper as the preacher’s groin stiffens each time he turns the page. Get him used to using the pulpit to hide it and offer him positions of respect among societal authorities, distinct to set frequencies, with all his silent roar cracking into porcelain-like solids, complete with jagged edges, piling on the floor at the foot of every reflective surface or mirror.

(Then, what their vanity justifies.)

[joshbloecker]

Suffocated By Lack of Wood (Our United State)

Fifty rigid, enclosed tubules in each root carrying nutrients from the soil deliver color to the leaves.

Forests upon forests spanning the distances between oceans collapse once their deadfall (built over years without lightning) cuts atmospheric nitrogen off to the ground.

Parties in untold numbers hoist prospective fire marshals into office (none of them touch ground either).

[joshbloecker]

A Global Market -User Guide

1.  Marching orders at half step with no rhythm signaled, except by shouts (or bullhorns).

2.  Someone in rooms for the suits decides continual preparations are just cause for war. With their suits they create just cause for lined pockets, designer suits, and gatherings in the names of the fallen organized for those who gave the orders. (For a suit’s admiration, the tear duct’s empty swallow.)

3.  If you feel, you are legislated to do so without compass. If you think, you are legislated to do so, but only on behalf of who owns the most.

4.  Defend this calculated definition of democracy, or quick-snap the response -drooled to vocal proportions; signal your defeat: “But this is a representative republic.” END OF USER GUIDE

5.  If you wonder, “Whose interests are being represented?” start over from step two.

[joshbloecker]

To Be Clear (Notes on the Conflict)

               Attention consumed in gathering spit, eyes roll in place, irises shift, and black bodies contract event horizons lined by corporeal demons shifting into black mist along walls of two singularities’ wormholes, -its undulating surfaces coated in electric blue light, projected in sheen waves waxing and waning an electromagnetic tide over teeth and claws and consummate intent to devour flesh. It is all being torn, -but broken into its resonant fixtures and redirected long enough to no end, so the foam built in the endless churn comes to direct as its own intelligence.

               We believe in hearts before hands without shades; no purples -no blues, and never a sick parade.

[joshbloecker]

Cataloguing Singularity

            Shadows flank corridors in swells and tidal sways of dominion, we fall in line or become paralyzed, afraid of depths prone to open to void - it’s an internal sense and it fills seconds, swollen out of incremental measurements - that collapse before founding any progress of matter.

A phenomena aspiring to go unnoticed:

              “I’m open to gravitating forward pinned to an unseen post black as death.” -Because it’s how night falls; no one can say there was any choice.