Cul de sac is of the body–the cretic first used in anatomy to denote a “diverticulum ending blindly” (1793). In it I hear a school for strays on binding, a diversion bending blithely. Maybe everything collects in the sack. All flocks, all sensations. A sack to contain all sacks. The layoffs and lost socks the groceries the confidence man of prime time ad hominem the accumulating gravel collected like relics of excellence by potholes and knees and cheeks pressed into the dirt of it the big wheel screams the plastic Santas lit from within and below the cul de sac’s mischief night trees festooned in toilet paper–the realm of unintentional pun. Because cul comes culus “bottom, backside, fundament.” Rounded and mooning. A too late apotropaic. An ass offensive. Fundamentally, I said the cul de sac’s trees and not the Miller’s trees or the Porco’s trees or Jehovah’s Witnesses’ trees because in language is the deed. And the dead. Who’s culling? This tender pouch this lost end not surprisingly often in the possessive. For example, the so-called Pouch of Douglas*, otherwise known as the rectovaginal pouch aka the Douglas cavity, the Douglas space, the Douglas cul-de-sac. Like a chamber pot or cracked and empty pool-cum-endgame the cul de sac culls as much as it collects. And they are siblings–Cull and Collect–gathered here together. To join and exclude. To pick flowers and fruits. To identify the animals to be sent away, the brunts of a brute claim.
*Q: Who’s Douglas and where did he come from? Unsatisfactory A: An anatomist who came from his mother’s body in the year 1675.