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Digital Poetics #18 Force of Nature: Amy De'Ath

It’s a good night to stay home & work a delivery tread

on the yeast farm, then pour oneself into a plaster-of-Paris

model of our own activities. It’s a fine night to entertain!

Neo-feudalism for indolent boomers. Birds in their little nest,

Hanging on the edge

Of earth as it is in heaven 

But more than that, aside heaven and hell:

The quickness deepening a family of dead flies and a bee

Storm clouds lit up from the inside

Angel Hair anthology inscribed outwards to me

The two formalities walking out to dinner

Fluoride & Sestius, Discourse and Reason,

Samantha at the World’s Fair with her stupid husband.

Godly flourishing. God, I don’t care

I want

What you just had

You “army of People,” you logistical shadow. You want it

but you can’t need it, you love it but could never conceive it

to do your job, or to provide the material equipment

to cancel a city to bring you back to my feet, if life slips

easily then why

Are you so brittle? Lording it over me

like a natural dude science outdated, struck

for embezzlement, forgery, crooked stock jobbing, quick to

Go blue, I know of you

I look at this and just think

It’s not about NAFTA.

First there was piece work

then there was wage-labour

we should not allow this

then we should bury them.

At this point in the story

the inverted world itself—

And there was piece work again

imagination and virtuosity

liveness and death

a flashing ferris wheel catching

and throwing us off

once as predictive policing

second as unconscious bias training

Land in Saskatchewan, land in Delhi

As if the earth existed twice

a prism through the hook

Of a Lucretian swerve

a pretty planar fold of power

folded in upon itself and

everything else sublime

about you and that you want from women and gays

I don’t speak for women but I am compelled

to act as one and make a concept out of it.

I am both cottagecore and hope

you’re keeping safe. Resilience discourse

And electable bunny boiler, crimp-ed

Where the stars fell into themselves

A wildfire here

a cup of Stevia there,

A turgid cat in a car park I picked up by

Morrisons with a feeling of déjà vu for

Things and their

uses I may not divine

Social mobility to what?

A mysterious union Comes catachrestically to me,

says what it is

and why I am, but I am no longer

what it was then and now:

I thought the job would be forever; my hang

glider to the soul

I look upon myself.

The bar slides down the screen. You look over.

The first declension a downturned ladder to a depth

I don’t know any more, is it you

or me cooler now here

Than it is in there?

All wage-theft is theft, all proles

can be theivers so

We’re forms akin to ourselves

no longer recognizable

A nothingness to act on

as our activities act on us

Catching in antimony creased ideas beneath the skin –

a beautiful garden

the nineteen-sixties

a handsome river

the nineteen-seventies

a sweet dusky dune

the nineteen-eighties

a proper fleecing

the nineteen-nineties

city of atomic light

this casual gesture

hot body heat

these pleated hills

a fold of skin

quadrouple freedom

a deep green pool of sleep

behold me I’m you now


This publication is in Copyright. Amy De'Ath, 2020.

The moral right of the author has been asserted. However, the Hythe is an open-access journal and we welcome the use of all materials on it for educational and creative workshop purposes.


Amy De’Ath writes on contemporary poetry, gender and Marxism, and has published a number of chapbooks, including ON MY LOVE FOR gender abolition (Capricious) and Lower Parallel (Barque). She is Lecturer in Contemporary Literature, Culture and Theory at King’s College London.

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