From Mill HeAD


Kylan Rice


I can’t help it can’t help        anything, can’t help nor build seeing
as I do not know the last thing
                                  about load-bearing, thermosets, viscous gels, extrusion versus
sintering, microdroplets, self-assembly, know only               lacuna, gaps, depths of my own
                                                                 inutility       know only
rural space     know there is more              to interrupt here, more interrupting
of groundbirds, of killdeer, there is nothing          to see here, nothing to see nothing to see
this bird insists with its       song, space where
not everything
               is built, not everything draped in microporous housewrap resistant to bulk
water but still letting breathing happen I am having a hard time
                                                                      doing that, that
is, breathing, having a hard time not feeling
there is something I need to be doing, need to be, can’t              help doing, keep making
         the shape of gathering        with my arms to explain the idea I have
imagining gathering     sheaves while doing it, bundles of, in other words “gavels,” can’t not
think of Thoreau whose friend “Minott           was telling me to-day  ...     used the word ‘gavel’
to describe a parcel of stalks cast down to dry, to desiccate to separate      to thresh
hold, this      wall-like fusing into doorways          into windows into windows, can’t help
this biosynthesis, sintering
this synthetic lace, this stem-cell laced     scaffolding,      blue Dow weathertape to the lace blue
dress of the mezzo, Mahler’s third symphony, whose whole body               is going into it,
compression of gut into breath into song into O
                                              mensch O mensch the whole body in the shape
                                              of that O, the whole in the O, the hole
in the song is the breath


From Mill Head


it is only fitting this day day            of telomeres, follicles, artificial ovaries, no resolution,
no closure into cell        shape, range   but no growth, all reception, assuming as a given
it is too late, there will be no more      snow, now
though, the subsurface darkens, the sepal the cuticle, where cell       walls ruptured and froze——
        that this day should end
                         before a copy of a Claude Lorrain,       consummate framer, View of Delphi
with a Procession here   you have the frame the inner frame the double-columned temples
the old-world trees, some shattered boughs what is left of a catastrophic snow one year mid-May
a processural    tissue of ivy, resulting tendrilling, venous wrapping-around, building
wrap, Tyvek, air-drilling spindles, spiracles, mill-heads, end effectors, thin threads
      of plastic, gelatin, food, cellulose         suspended in an acetate, skin as structure, single
production process where wall-like elements fuse          into windows into windows, into
framework     no,
formwork      imagine a building
              that is pure response to its environment gatherer         of its own on-site data,
building its own building   surface out of the local materials, modulating its own
densities, columns, bundles unbundles, fully         configural, set loose
                                                            in a landscape purely to make, fathom
                incorporate, we must   begin thinking
in terms of tissues as opposed         to parts,      begin thinking in terms of life the self a mere
occasion for the swarming of responses for swarmlike          life, life a total lack
of disarray, all  force, object, objects as forces, where the berry is the transverse stressor, not
as I thought my tongue, the berry the source
                                                   of ruin, the ruin of my appetite, my appetite
for anything, collapse
                       of knowledge into day,day-warmth,thermal decomposition,unframed
light, no end          to a life in the same way there is no limit
                                                              to periphery, there is always more
there, no limit to how much in being I can be
outside of this, en pleine air


From Mill Head


by what law           abide, by what       principle (what entry from what master
builder saying where  the transverse stress should go, that a double arch    will more than double
the strength, lighten the burden
of entries by a factor of             what?) what hierarchy, what order
                                      as in, of angels, their choirs, choir of
councillors, governors, ministers, therein find
                                      the principality, the archangel, the angel, angel that is
pure act, just does, is   sensory abundance, all at once in the air, in zero gravity
                                                                                can print metal,
can sinter, zithering, what scaffold but this
                                      bioscaffolding, life     wants its structure its trellis its tiny
purposing, its small    desire, I like the angel      cultivate a small desire, delight
in it, in bearing                          witness to it, make
an entry out of it, what is it really      like, the scent of a linden tree? sweetness that is
suppleness, bladder-based        system of expanding and contracting, of dynamic
groupings, soft       robotics for uneven terrain not so much walking as much as
shuffling, side       -long   pilgrimage on printed legs,    sweetness that is that of being
earthbound, fully present, sweetness of your passing
presence, your being    proximate to me, scented with essential oils, with frankincense with lavender
how the linden tree in seed reminds me                of being that close to you, that sensory
overload of you, that burden
                               of abiding, just being, just brushing          teeth together, bio-
scaffolding together, not always needing        to take take          wing find out
how a wing works replicate     those principles, manufacture the same way
nature manufactures: all
                       the time as much as possible, where what is possible is       what is
needed, what is        wanting wanting law, knowledge of the law, how it works       how it does


Kylan Rice has writing published in The Kenyon Review, RHINO, West Branch, The Seattle Review and elsewhere. He has an MFA in poetry from Colorado State University and is currently a PhD candidate in literature at UNC-Chapel Hill.