- 1
the beauty of the moment when it was over
no sound
no image
full silence going on
they cdn't know it was over, it had been over so many times
i'm alone now
how is it
it's true
images of field & field or field & pasture meeting
- imagination likes
what refers to itself
- local writing &
pictures -
glamours -
the screen
thought it would be early morning, it was sooner, tree in
the solar, sleep thinking, under,
white neon cube
10-by
touches of some faint color moving in the white
a chocolate cake,
another flatter one
a dog, red, blue, brown & white
with lines of pattern
the old woman was once - i seem to be grasping a
relation - on the edge of a lake
the nanny or governess of
i say she's very old & this is across amnesis
anyone listening to language: eyes eyebrows
forehead micromovements
at the rhythm of the speaker
without a lag
this morning sunday
early
waking from a small voice my own stating opposites
to what i'm used to thinking
working pleasure but then, together with,
& now more, pain,
quarrel
in the blue journal remembering, a few days remarkably recovering
& then summing
the liquefied thinking from then
oh where shd i be
it is not possible to pass from one to the other without a break.
one starts out but at some point there is a breakdown.
small mixed message,
my envelope, anger, toy, bitter,
handful of peapods, love, joke
(did i miss the writing in them,
he isn't following, knows this is a dead end & i'll have to backtrack.
have to fold
back the mirrors across the stairs, and at the top, am looking at a baby
asleep in a crib in a dark hall.
retreat.
any phrase contains the coordinates of its place
- that's not quite
-
she said, that writing is the cube, that fissures
& still stands together
the first summer, the question is,
is there still an outside.
the slides show, a staring school alone in the land.
a staring truck to the eyes in grass.
a view from further back than the door.
a view from behind a shadow flying.
veined sky. doubled
flame rearing to look.
a photographer veiled.
a bone & its shadow in ashed ground & water.
thank you
window zooming up
hey
but not
- it's
her
beautiful head
came home. cocoa on the stove, boiled over (for
you my old one) while i stood under the porch light looking
it is & it isn't
what do i know today
the blinding fine white yellow headlights rising on the slick
that the first version is true & wrong,
the revised is false, anxious, opportunistic, narrow
& there can be a version come from them
both
is part of -
the one becomes two, within one
/ which is one within one
the mirror reflection is again placenta
i feel a homecoming light
it is selfconscious freedom, which is at one with itself, and has not
set aside the opposition it involves
the life of the mind is not one that shuns death & keeps clear of destruction;
it endures death & in death maintains its being. it
only wins to its truth when it finds itself utterly torn asunder
after
birth. seeing
the placenta
the surprise of the gnarled, heavily veined big meaty
red & blue bulging
hold
up the placenta so the child can see
the woman in the bath says something, it's not very
------, there isn't ------ in it
-
what? -
------ -
eternity! -
i don't agree,
to want a bath & to go out into the corridor & put your hand on
a door & the knob turns & you go in & have a bath, it's very
------
how as it goes into a new part it has also immediately a circumstance
/ knowledge which is its own
the dimension it doesn't have is knowledge of its whole sequence
is got into by slow intense observation 'causes
a shift'
navigation with ref to start and destination by feeling where one is
in it
first part bleached green
a ghost is visiting the homestead
the kindled image feels the smallest flare
a liminal beating wheatfield
running
little creeping color change
over the east place grassland a flotilla
of them sailing in that even way
acute place the acute farmland the
sense of acute farmland
it's already live & already bright picks
up tiny lines of vibration it
registers exquisitely the smallest breathing shift of your thigh as fluctuation
of brightness
it begins with a pulling into here
strengthening a way of speaking & sensing
an expanded region of undertone
i tried to observe what passed in my own mind when i did the work of
a worm
if we were parting for life it would be like this,
smile, but blind,
and already gone,
wd it
you're going thru war to your family
we know there'll be no turning around
laying cheek on bathtub edge
i don't want there to be anyone else in me i want
to be alone in this work
not careful, familiar, bang in,
s m i l e , that false smile going fast
& deep, pleasantness spreads behind it, (sorry - )
(and: she i'm not true enough to be with, wdnt've - )
but was that him
it puts me into thin stirred time to think so
the strength & color of the light & air
mountain sides white breath
stands among
head pressures
the brightening
i wrote on.
sailing sailing
sayling away
sail on thru the sad
it has gone on
nasturtiums
mor of the field
born at noon, laid on the ground
burned
in the campo dei fiori
wanting differently
wanted you to know
wanted to know
frenzy's already here i'm tearing thru
the leaves
ophruoeis!
yelling
no more
husband i want
music
now
knight's knife
knight's gown
a book in the foldover at the belly, it's a
journal i hid there long before
something else
- a moment of
the other -
next to a moment of this one
when
he was stubbornly for a long time standing in the water towing the lily
on its long stem
without shame, with shame,
in the model, in the one.
expresses a time. there can't be corrections
|