Protest the passing of the world
Mark and erase and paw and taw your way
Across the infinite palimpsest
Who bothers to describe a thing
Except when they cannot attain it
When they have already lost it
To write at all is to embrace the passing of the world
A whirling embrace, stuttered solecisms
* * *
My body from two bodies
Growing in saudade seasons
Dulled and sharpened by the variable intensity of senescence
The attachment of love to objects
The disassociation of love from reality
The world is illuminated quite brightly
There is no sun within the mind
Everything is visible
We intend, injure and inter ourselves
With or without hope, with or without despair
A scratch on the black painted mirror-back
Reveals a glint from the bare bulb in the attic
There is no consummate understanding
No great ideal to be gained
We must be willing to recreate the world again and again
* * *
Ashes of ancient stars fall like snow through the silhouette of time
All is sense and indefinite oneness
Locked within mind, body, pain and imagination
We are alone, taken by togetherness
I cannot be and I cannot leave
Held in place by the indeterminate terminal edges
The incomprehensible boundary of the universe
* * *
I love the world best through a window
There is light carried in crow’s feet through cloud-veils
Nails ripped from floor boards by the wing-shaped velocity of the equinox
There is light traveling in an arrow arc
Through cataracts of dust
Beneath deep blue vaults
The room loses its shape at the end of the day
Trapezoids of electromagnetic radiation
Slide across a few square feet of renter’s carpet
Its fugitive existence disintegrating into an algorithm of dust
Within this world within me
Transfixed by its specious wayward revelation
I always find myself in this same abstracted place
Windows, mirrors, and walls hung in the air like empty picture frames
The labyrinth cannot be followed back so easily
I unfold myself until all the creases are exposed
Taking this origami soul back to the flat, bare page
* * *
Missingness tells me things
Skin, sweat, fear, gravel, photographs
Atomic dust washing into the sea
None of this exists
Not the photographs as I remember them
The moments in which they were taken
As imperceptible as someone else’s pain
* * *
Do not try to imagine me
Being self-conscious, one does not wish to be guessed at. Lacking self-consciousness, one does not wish to guess
Containing oneself in a singularly contrived version of reality, on which no other system can overlay, is the only enlightened path
Existence is untenable, yet so easily accounted for by those who exist
It is important to resist attempts to imagine anything
The process of ideation must remain muddled
The mechanism below hidden, it’s singing muffled
Protected against mysterious empathy, time dies in an elevated moment and we continue
M O O N L I T S T A R C A R S 