Thursday, July 15, 2010

52. Arcticulated

Our labour
or labor
in the language
bears no fruit
but fruition
The growing
the groan
There is
nothing to it
Just a thinking
in words
a jut
into the sentence
which is just
a period of time
we are trapped
within
Armor is
a kind of love
we eat
in public
Periods of time
note the ends
of sets of words
partly because
we exist in time
as if we were
continuation
and not mere
presence
Hand it to you
Distances
extend through
a sense of
not moving
forward
Arbitrary are
all articles of art
Afterwards
there were flowers
and the followers
of flowers
We build
monuments
because there are
so many
dead ideas
to remember
Particles of skin
scattered
through the house
remind us
of those
who were there
Unintentionally
so all the more
significant
I decided
to write
a parody of
what I imagined
I might
write later
in my older age
when I had
lost the ability
to care what
I might write
or why
I have no eye
I cannot say
The old dog
totters into
darkness
where nothing
sleeps
A word can
either mean
what it means
or mean
whatever else
we want it
to mean
A jar
on a shelf
means sex
Sex means
something is
a boy and
something is
a girl
Today resembles
in every detail
the day I’d meant
to dream
myself through
tomorrow.

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