317. Odeum
They say sometimes if you’re feeling sorry for yourself.
If you’re feeling partially heard and completely misunderstood.
They say something about the falling stories of self.
If you’re reeling artfully through the urban woods.
They say alacrity.
If you need it.
Many things they say.
This is the first official announcement this morning.
I like its nonobviousness.
(And snakiness, of course.)
“Anduounk,” I said to no-one in particular.
“Versions of being will bleed you right again.”
“On the steps,” they say, “Sometimes it is.”
They say, “Sometimes it is on the steps.”
It is a speaking that takes on the character of writing.
It is a writing that takes on all comers.
As opposed to the particular words they believed.
If you are believing it into fact.
The faces and facts that robbed you of all your sight.
They said there were words that could turn it right.
They say the use of light is rough and sophisticated.
Illuminated faces like a manuscript.
Manuscraps of their poetry collide and commingle.
Breath as air as wind as storm as what is felled from it.
Against nostalgia, and somehow.
Beside convention, and neither.
An archives to keep.
Kept after the fashion of the future.
Begin the quest by grabbing a chair.
Every forward as a stop or top or operations of the heart.
In a moment, there will be another.
They say it comes from seeing too often in the face of.
Also maneuvered to assign.
Designated parking area for the past.
The blood inside is bleeding.
What’s bled is bloody too.
“What is it,” they ask, “that is running through you?”
Blood or breath or bone?
And also about stones.
They are concerned with the presentation of things in a pattern.
What patter are feet or speech.
Pattern doesn’t promise purpose.
We come, they say, so you can speak to her.
They seem to say that you cannot aver.
Do you understand it? or this?
(Of course not.)
Words are matters for the blood.
That sense that would waft up into the mind.
Brilliant and brazen and breaking.
Uninterminable endings.
The story concerned the making of poems, but not her.
The requirement extended to the requirement to extend hands.
They say you hand it to.
In your hand you had it.
Cache for cachet.
If an item lasts forever.
They say they want to keep it kept.
Kept and safe and put away for not watching.
I will not pretend to know we hope.
We hope from here there seems.
They say they want to know to keep it.
They say they need to want to know it.
They say they have to find to need it
They say they must have seemed to see it.
If you’re seeming to know.
If it is in the shape of itself.
Being.
Breathing.
Be.
Breathe.
Be
Breath.
If you’re feeling partially heard and completely misunderstood.
They say something about the falling stories of self.
If you’re reeling artfully through the urban woods.
They say alacrity.
If you need it.
Many things they say.
This is the first official announcement this morning.
I like its nonobviousness.
(And snakiness, of course.)
“Anduounk,” I said to no-one in particular.
“Versions of being will bleed you right again.”
“On the steps,” they say, “Sometimes it is.”
They say, “Sometimes it is on the steps.”
It is a speaking that takes on the character of writing.
It is a writing that takes on all comers.
As opposed to the particular words they believed.
If you are believing it into fact.
The faces and facts that robbed you of all your sight.
They said there were words that could turn it right.
They say the use of light is rough and sophisticated.
Illuminated faces like a manuscript.
Manuscraps of their poetry collide and commingle.
Breath as air as wind as storm as what is felled from it.
Against nostalgia, and somehow.
Beside convention, and neither.
An archives to keep.
Kept after the fashion of the future.
Begin the quest by grabbing a chair.
Every forward as a stop or top or operations of the heart.
In a moment, there will be another.
They say it comes from seeing too often in the face of.
Also maneuvered to assign.
Designated parking area for the past.
The blood inside is bleeding.
What’s bled is bloody too.
“What is it,” they ask, “that is running through you?”
Blood or breath or bone?
And also about stones.
They are concerned with the presentation of things in a pattern.
What patter are feet or speech.
Pattern doesn’t promise purpose.
We come, they say, so you can speak to her.
They seem to say that you cannot aver.
Do you understand it? or this?
(Of course not.)
Words are matters for the blood.
That sense that would waft up into the mind.
Brilliant and brazen and breaking.
Uninterminable endings.
The story concerned the making of poems, but not her.
The requirement extended to the requirement to extend hands.
They say you hand it to.
In your hand you had it.
Cache for cachet.
If an item lasts forever.
They say they want to keep it kept.
Kept and safe and put away for not watching.
I will not pretend to know we hope.
We hope from here there seems.
They say they want to know to keep it.
They say they need to want to know it.
They say they have to find to need it
They say they must have seemed to see it.
If you’re seeming to know.
If it is in the shape of itself.
Being.
Breathing.
Be.
Breathe.
Be
Breath.
Comments
Post a Comment