Saturday, September 24, 2005

for now,


in a sense of origin, in a condition of thought, in a position definition writing itself within a site within itself, a convection decorum, a kind of look-see blossom mandate, writing its own sense of some imperative, impatient in a fell swoop, a medium moment indifferent to a quantum meantime, infinitesimal rhythms writing an origin, writing the organ, touching the body, cutting scratching permanence, hacked in a seminal position, answering a question that never existed, an argument for progress, discipline for truth, marking the clocks, making despair, double vision variables dividing every muscle, every mold without a perspective . . .

I am wings writing in shapes

I am fingers touching the body, blotting the ink, limber on a blank page, every word a wound, every innocent face a rippling breeze, solid in an unfolding beauty into a being never to return to geographic display, a hunger for thinking, inescapable in the flow of slippery language, hollow conjoining origins binding points at each end, a hand that holds a book, sensing a demand, deliberating, hugging the bramble, embracing the curvature of water on the spine of space, a certain chain reaction reaching an invisible chain reaction at the limits of a double substitute, a double disremembering, a letter slipping in motion in the manner of a serpent confronting the outside, on the inside, alone in the marks of thinking, at the limits of thinking, dying in a thought thinking a thing, a mystic garden, a peep hole cicada, a solar system away from another beyond another, replaced by an endless ellipse . . .


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