trying to figure the transfinite asymptote

there is no cure to be found inside the phrase 
how a thing can be finite as to its entitative
being and finite under another relation nor
in increasing the mgs. by half           
                              again

though family psychoses by degrees evident
meanesses thronged within open doors (or
not); serious soap on TV, crooks
bombs, poverty disguised as un-

watchable commerciality, grief 
summarised into 
a mere
clip

tested: suddenly this wind turns to NNE, leaves 
curl, horse chestnuts preform, the giant euphorbia 
cracks its unsyncopated whipseedlashes
a quite terrible need for grace

viator or comprehensor are not channel options
see those men trying to gather body parts?
                                          stagger
too many differing intentions - walk down
any street - aerials mop up a World View

next year's biennials already at a plunder and under 
review whatever language suffices flounders 
becomes hazardous litter or at best 
a sentimental overview

what happens at the last before

link disabled for safety and protection
pictures promising a weekend of lurid

although not spelt out, headlines say
differently. Sell. In order to they must

shout and there's hard(ly) about
in the air and upon the ground a

scrunchingness certainty where before
soft a boundaryless has gone mess

what's come about is a hand suddenly
removed a having to do it myself at my

last minute which was alright but now
isn't a piece removed a vital piece once

again at the very last and minute wouldn't
suffice so that's all very well to say that in

New England in the first week of September
it does this but we're not ("it was The Times

and it was that he withdrew I remember
there was talk of impeachment in Britain too...") there 

yet too much bare flesh in the not-tabloid press cold 
wet nasturtiums utterly pocked mildew upon

the flags where no one is walking no talking 
taking place a terrifying ebb and flow blaming

a staining where a dead rose withered and fell
and this season rounded by polite politicals

nothing radical; dead, yes dead and no one
no one admitting how empty dark are hours

once evening

don't take the O'Donohue

no going back from the corpses
no pretty hues for dead blue filth
it looking like part of Rembrandt's Anatomy lesson
but starker somehow and on a trolley
and at tea time on the 6 o'clock, headless

are there to be crimes committed in every
home if the statistics are to be kept up with
that has to be the only way surely? Utterly
a safe bet numbers 50,900,000 blogs
on the web and with all this talk
it's all a foregone, surely?

who'll pray then?
should have rung the local newspaper
was headline news
it has been so dry and the snake
would have come for the water but would have been
frightened by the vibrations of all those children

how like the viper
what it bequeathed
alone and afraid the "spiritual sponsor"
parading his arrogance elsewhere who came eventually
from his walled retreat to 'borrow' books. Favourites. Who'll
do his own workshop, mock the weak(er)/write a programme

it's so fast and apparently
is not felt when it bites
a gaping neck where a person was
broiled blubber where pride in a clean white shirt
come, hiss: you'll not lessen the world's dirt
by word (mouth venom missile or poetry)