$30.00
**LACK ZABACH – “I.. It” (c90 boxset + insert)**
*a divine comedy in three infernal lawns, partially translated, partially chewed*
**INFERNO: THE DRY LAWN OF JULY**
I awoke mid-step upon a brittle field,
Where grass did crunch like old confessions told
Too late to matter.
A guide approached—half clerk, half compost—
Named **Viridion Subroot**, who spoke thusly:
> “Behold, the season of dryness unkind,
> When chafer queens descend in dust to write
> Their hidden children in the turf below.”
The sky was clear, too clear, suspiciously polite.
No rain had visited in many weeks.
> “Lo,” said Viridion, “this dryness is desire—
> For they who burrow love the thirsty ground.”
And from beneath, faint stirrings did reply.
---
**(a fragment from the insert, partially corrupted):**
> *In aridum turfae, ova descendunt.*
> *C-forma latentia… quarter-inchia…*
> *videre post Laborum Die…*
---
We walked.
The lawn gave way in squares, as if reality
Had been pre-cut for sampling.
“Dig,” said my guide.
So I did tear a foot of earth from earth,
And sifted through its roots like tangled scripture.
There they were—
Pale, curved, indifferent.
Little commas in the sentence of decay.
---
### **INTERLUDE: THE LANGUAGE OF GRUBS**
They spoke.
Not aloud, but sideways.
> *“Ssel noitidnoc yrd si ruo lanoitcnuf.”*
> *(Our function is dry conditionless.)*
> *“C-form we keep. Soft arc. Soft arc.”*
> *“0.25… 0.375… we measure ourselves in hesitation.”*
One turned slightly, as if embarrassed to be seen.
---
### **PURGATORIO: THE ROOTS OF RECOGNITION**
Upward we climbed—not into heaven,
But into a slightly less damaged yard.
Here, the grass was greener, though nervously so.
Every blade seemed aware of what lay beneath.
Viridion spoke again:
> “By Labor Day they show themselves with ease,
> For growth above betrays the feast below.”
And sure enough, the signs were subtle but precise:
* thinning whispers in the turf
* patches that sighed instead of stood
* roots that let go too quickly
---
**(a reversed marginal note):**
> *“.sborG eht ees ot ysae eb lliw yeht”*
> *“.yad robaL yb”*
---
We knelt again.
Another square lifted.
More of them—curled like questions.
---
One grub addressed me directly:
> *“Krow ton od uoy fi ,esuaceb…*
> *…eht niaga emoc ew lliw.”*
> *(If you do not act… we will come again.)*
Another added, more cheerfully:
> *“We are not evil. We are consistent.”*
---
### **PARADISO: THE LAWN THAT KNOWS**
At last we came to a place where the grass stood firm,
Deep-rooted, quietly confident.
No grubs revealed themselves here,
Though their absence felt… negotiated.
Viridion smiled, which caused a small patch of clover to bloom.
> “Knowledge is the gate,” he said.
> “To see before one acts, to act before collapse.”
The air here was neither dry nor wet,
But balanced, like a sentence that ends properly.
---
**(final insert fragment, multilingual and fading):**
> *Diagnosium primus.*
> *Actium secundus.*
> *Confusio… evitandum.*
> *“First, know. Then, do. Avoid the theater of guessing.”*
---
### **EPILOGUE: DESCENT AGAIN (BUT KNOWING)**
I turned to leave.
The path wound backward through all three lawns at once.
Behind me, faintly, the grubs resumed their quiet work—
not malicious, not kind, simply present.
One last voice echoed upward:
> *“.ti… I..”*
The title folding in on itself.
And I understood, at last, the joke:
That the divine comedy of lawns
Is not in their ruin—
But in how often we mistake the surface
For the story.
Edition of 1.