It's weird the way they never lead to anything, though I had this thought
that it gives you power to say "no" to whatever else it could have been,
I'm not so unfamiliar you know with ways of saying no to things and keeping
desire safely where the distance doesn't have much chance or keeping things
so packed together that though you read as carefully as anyone I've ever known and
more than most you still can't always seem to see the pages staring back at you.
I talk in methods; Whitehead thought the only substance, processes
and so I'll give away the trick: the word goes flat into the palm, is cupped against
the things I don't want you to see, I gesture with the other ones and love
the most important part here is tucked at the point where three fourths of this is almost done
Then cupped against the sweating neck and held against the air. A book's a book unless
It's held in just the proper hands and I could learn to fall in love with watching people
Pick the symbols out of mind and never know just what it was they saw. Marcus said tonight
I might make people think I'm not as "rigorous" as, in fact, my work tends towards. He's right and
I wonder if he knows how much it is I say what I mean through the lines. I want to think of you holding a book
I watched sitting on a desk, to feel the traces, to see the print, to marvel in the words. If the book is autographed, I know someone else has touched it.
I gave myself to God when I was young have hungered for it since can find no way to say that all I have is you when I worship on bended knee it isn't really worship have you ever seen selfimmolation as only one structured around a void can become?
A flame in the sky was all the warning Job had not to turn around.
It would have been love if he'd seen his wife turn to salt and turned to look too.
I want you to read me like a book
And burn me one of many in a pile afterwards
until my ash can sift into the sky and
Be breathed in by birds.
No comments:
Post a Comment