Living theory
dries blood
on the book shelf.
Dusty analyses
soar over the kingdom
making casts
out of wood
life, retro-
fitted into tongues
of the formalist.
Soon everything
reducible pattern
forest floors stripped
of tree stump
look like the speech
that bares us
for assimilation.
In the theorist’s room
curtains draw
over black
windows, life
blurs
with the broken
writing of machines.