March 2012
18 posts
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Transitions
For E.M
The arrivals entering through a ritual door, Carry no word from you, nor the headlines blank address, Informing me unquestionably that the decision Has slipped from us, and lies in another’s hands.
Knowing this, the few coins sheltered in my worn pocket, Will not grow with need or survive yearning, Our work disproves their use; a discovered hour, A table burdened with the crossing of our...
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Liminality
Suddenly, we allow the aspects of morning Into our vital senses, something distinct, Becoming heavier than superstition, Having lengthened and placed its structures Through the lightless passage into now;
Greeting firmly, as it does, it holds similarities, It requires us to connect and associate A web of images, the causal route for our arrival, Breaking from a knowingness, We became accustomed...
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“The truth knocks on the door and you say, “Go away, I’m looking for the truth,” and so it goes away. Puzzling.”
-Robert M. Pirsig
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As quickly as a man might move, his shadow will not leave him; our concerns are therefore lessened when released.
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I do not believe in a fate that falls on men however they act; but I do believe in a fate that falls on them unless they act.
-Buddha
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Children are the great intellectuals of our time. They will query any subject inexhaustibly, they never conclude what our mature selves have accepted to be simply the way of things. They are possessed by imagination and breathe their fantasies into each aspect of their daily proceedings. In their visions of a future they are bright and perfected, they set themselves to become things impossible or...
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The Trial of Sisyphus
The proceedings are beginning. They lead me by my diminished authority into the chamber, finding its components readily assembled. Those occupying the roles of judgment and questioning occupy their places, one composes his papers, another turns my remaining time through his hands. I am seated as if master at the domestic table, the chair of a conference. The announcements and official practices...
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“The present is our source for life. How can a life be lived in what has been...”
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The Return
Turning hesitantly in the late light, A necessary abstraction, a refusal of peace, We accept sentiments against the dissenting street, Lengthening our incompletion, finding us bright.
Stretched particle to asserted faith, We are consoled in brief certainties, Gathered as secrets among a collected urgency, What my hands have held, the surprise of their weight.
The minute breaking, solemn and...
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Our recollections are composed of first events, we award significance to each, (kiss, sex, love, the physical and the non-physical), and with them I maintain the moments I was given truth in poetry, and set my hands toward becoming a poet. (Prufrock sat at my table and composed his pipe; His hands were quick and nervous and his stern eye addressed the room with unresolved inquieries, aimed at all...
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Money
I carry portraits of monarchs, And innovators, to the value of a novel, An excuse, a contentment in distraction-
Consuming as loose notes Dictate tactile assurances, And glasses half full with anticipation,
(The atrocity- some have the fortune Of forgotten members and learn contempt) Functioning with enough to barter my way into the town,
Dedicated in the pursuit of nothing, Resuming the given...
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Routine
Our resolutions are as momentary as promises, We aim to fold them quietly together Under disused newspapers at train platforms, So as those we have come for or happen against, Will not recognise their discarded significance, Or even be certain that they were collected.
Repetition is the gaping headlines pronouncements, Inconstancy stands as the station divides space, Will set us at an unforeseen...
