Chimera Song Mosaic
Saturday, January 17, 2004
You bemuse us with your salad bowls perched atop fingertips,
your hoary cradle of the mother of that muddy river of Sawyer & Osiris.
Answer the question that has been on our minds all this time:
what does an alien ship stuck on the ocean floor look like?
What shape plays the dull gray funnels of our brains: Labyrinth?
There too is the question of what other worlds look like—
not just the cars they drive, the foods they eat, and the languages,
but the colors & textures of their domiciles—Gaudi’s wombs or Shinto?
Or have they any domiciles at all. The others give you peace
and set the scenes on spaceships & this world—the known—nothing’s
too fantastic, but there is no peace, is there? Art knows know peace
when confined by the limits of our own taxonomy, same as when you draw
a fantastic animal & resort to the same dull amalgamation:
canoe—virus—carbon—rhinoceros.
