Abstract Associations #003
A conversation in poetic verses
Photo by Jeremy Nathan Marks
Slipstick —
Sincerity rises to an inflexion of insincerity on the astrolabe.
The parabola of the rocket, the car, the bar of soap, a tooth
whitening paste, how can I compete with all the bespoke
slogans. Would you wear my intimacy if you could have
diamond inseams instead.
A poet says the plums in the bowl are cold and delicious.
He uses interchangeable adjectives. Do I believe him.
Is the poet a physician. And who provided the fruit. I read
of a man who, having wrecked his car on a bet, said the crash
was an experiment: a successful attempt to sustain the fastest
speed he’d made yet. Blame J.G. Ballard. Blame Werner Von
Braun. Their insights were in the interests of science. Shall we
now asperse genius.
The truthbearer delivers truths that are truer than true. They plot
the valences of fact, calculate conjectures to the nth power along
a vanishing line. I have come to believe you need the novelty of
old things to establish trust. I propose placing a slide rule around
my neck. It’s not a yoke. Should others request my trust, I shall
make them plot their promises with this slipstick.
©2025 Jeremy Nathan Marks
[The Reply]
Thermographic Photo by Philippe Rahm
Thermovolt —
Around my neck, a noose is the weight of words that take my breath, my
breathing —loose —laboured, sucking in water from the moisture that
surrounds the words are the weave as I choke on the phrases [inner or
outer] whirling in sensory blending sensations. Words bring the taste of
shards of glass—cutting, reducing a literal throat of ash. Are we the
thermostat or the thermometer? The meter that draws the blood rushing
in my ears, oleaginous aura acclimation warring against seers and sages,
pages the pawns dividing us on fabricated stages. I’d prefer to be the
fronds folding gently holding dew bathing slowly in your slipstick hues as
diamonds were never a girl’s best friend. Where is the equation for our
agency, allusions, mathematical measurements, metaphoric dialed
details, lines, control, your digital religion data and abstract algorithms
blackening my soul. Astrological forces aligning in contention, tension in
Dalio’s destabilizing cycles circling —us versus —them versus —me versus
—you, I need YOU, —Coniuncti Sumus— through Mercury rising aligning
retrogrades, essential equal potential, sapiens historical tracings of
human progress melodious in my lungs with you, reanimate echos to
resuscitate we —Homo Deus— infused in aether to continue to rewrite
trappings of luminous ascendance. But, in this maze of woven quantified
truths with shadowed emotion another question I raise, where does the
ghost of human intuition reside, and can it guide us to a meaning beyond metrics?
©2025 SylviA 🌞 KalinA
Jestem Lux Mystica Krwi Ogniowej
 | A guest post by
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Sylvia, again congratulations for the collaboration on this poem/prose poem, it's always a beautiful idea to put energies together.
As per the previous poem, I have the impression that the tactile/physical has a strong component in your writing. This has the potential convey powerful messages to the reader, as very grounded in human sensation. Keep writing and perfecting your voice (as all of us should do).
Lovely "conversation." The two go so well with (and against) each other, and the recordings were brilliant.