(late) Monday Poem: The Spirit Zone #11

For amusement, re-run the delectable nude scene:
if you pause at the right moment, amplify
the brightness and contrast together, you can draw
the body parts out of their native shadows,
the shielding crux or crotch – mere faces blur,
farcically, in that saturating glare.
Troubles march in long lines, as it says
somewhere around the outset of A. D.’s
Pornography: here they form an unseemly rabble,
an indecent rout. Does clutter in itself make up
a system? Oppression is contingent, a low
defilement; noise to emancipation’s signal
which at this far remove is overheard –
as ever – as a trailing shriek of feedback.