A Spent Force In Certain Circles Poem by Tanec Rayl

so we start at the top,
taking certain modernist characteristics to
an extreme state; exhausted, we then refer to
a more general human condition marked by
meta-narratives, myths, unquestioning support

a break

then a statement: truth is historically constructed
we ought to tediously expose its hidden mechanisms
rejecting mimetic representation, origin, plot, embracing
form-playing, mutilation of icons, the plundering of remains

ruined. there can be no shoring-up, only
bricolage, graft, blurring the distinction between
David and what's send out to the sea
self-reflexively making reference to conventional codes, currently deployed
pie-carts overturned, smug and tittering

here's the thing:
condemned for having given up engagement for
solipsistic word play pleasure
what will be said of this fiction
enticing you into
the empyreal void
of the electronic word