How can it be that the gas chamber door opens inwards? by Steve Parker

How can it be that the gas chamber door opens inwards?

(to David Irving)

the occasion is Smoking Mirror, an exhibition–Flarf
to execrate the despicable English practice of riding to hound
–W.S. Burroughs
he’s asking in the wrong colour!
–Seance Recording (anon)

what it is	to outselect	the egregious shadow	assemblage
of flickers	the flickering voice	half-memory	a gestalt
of fireflies	& rattle	of redacted love	of the Ramp
of that confluence	of whispers	gargled up	in evoking
of the	noisy spirit	beyond	the machinery of
blue saturates	tested for at	Birkenau	Auschwitz
by weight of	its own inertia	so to assail	a weakness
prying alone	alone with the  conviction	with such fervour	thereby mining
with the fixation	of a boy	digging out	his first living spine
that such determination	sapping away	a bulwark	artfully
might	who might just bring	the walls coming down	with fumbling
with the flagship	at the blowing	thrice O thrice	of the trebuchet
trumpet trumpet	and canary	glossolalia there look listen	with jerks  & squawks of
trumpet	that thou art	in thy posture &	mild hooting hubris
thy resolve	to be other but	always in pursuit	and hot sneer
of what is truly	as the fall	of  clouds cry now	in deadly blue
& otherwise	spirited	from your holes	of deadness flushed
for the shoving	your redcoat tripes	in those faces	of deluded boys