Tuesday, December 18, 2007

kiss kiss : recorded Angel : die, Baldur, die!

Assessing every roadside
in the land, in this current year,
we know: there is less cassette
tape tangled in hedgerows
than at any time
since tape Recorded History began.

A substantive Driver recalls:
"Long unspooled tangles once
festooned many branches, many twigs;
now fallen, it has mulched, diminished, become hidden;"
and speculates
"theoretically, multitudes
of Analysts could recover
much of the twentieth century's speech
and song from magnetised
molecules now nestled in soil
beneath layers of leaves, fungi,
the indifferent tread of vixens
following hedgerow conduits;"
and qualifies
"however, much of the sound
quality would be
compromised, compared
with the original original."

Hanging tape is now
a smaller fraction of the total
mass of the countryside
than mistletoe -
statistically, therefore,
more uncanny, less homely
than mistletoe - perhaps therefore
a new mistletoe:
quantified as the stranger
of the dangling things we pass.

A Practical note on such hanging tape as you may encounter:

You can kiss beneath it
but it is not proven to kill the gods.


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