|
|
|
|
|
f
|
|
|
|
|
you need to understand what was forever.
it's probably not your picture of her.
it's probably not your records.
your angelfood recipe,
your 401K plan,
your average dustpan,
cable tv,
peace initiatives,
media coverage,
ornate tapestries,
legwear,
and graveyards.
body shape, vision,
cordless telephones,
zip drives,
all magnetic strips,
her arms,
the freshness of pop,
the underachieving of your father,
the inmates compliance,
the raging bulls,
the elephants,
the saddle,
the poem,
or word,
the smitten living, even timing,
the westerly progress, the space
exploration, moons over jupiter, over
miami, over myhammy, over alternate
stances on media, progress, tinfoil
and the uses of mediocrity
for the benefit of art's
instability and mode
of motion k making
q rising i in
u timing c
lovely.
the gravity of another overture spe lling
it's elf out in forest context shapes and
purfumes and puritanical dialogs, i'm alert,
"she said", i'm vague and mispunctuated.
all these things through time with exception
will change and i won't see it coming and
despite the fact that i've told myself
i will hold onto the vision like a
white ragged blanket i've slept
with everynight, thrown away
by mom, and has now become
a brown blanket, comfort
is the solid ground,
imp is change is
growth is
movement
we'll
resist
we'll fight despite telling ourselves our words
in lengths change sporadically, the lines are
drawn like our toes' absense, an edge in the
line drawing vaguely motoring my thoughts around
the sedimentary vision of my earth, i'll be
moving in slow tides and eddies at the bottom,
near fish, covered in waters of all flavor,
sheep we'll drown, but that's the action, yes?
the despot's
own vision of his
frail control over his
life should come to an end the
survival of finish lines is never a pretty sight,
some must disappear, yet we can always keep running,
we must keep the shoulders shouldering until they are not party
to our arm's movement, until our sight has been replaced by a new
existence,
under neath the natural neat you are all avoiding the spoken approach of
image.
we are just an image of our art. our deed.
cleanly and succinct, yet not at all.
we believe in ourselves, the american
pie has told us, jesus has told us,
our ability to make ourselves
right in the chaoas and chase,
the vague individual traveling,
and so in time we move about in hermit mode
disowning the property we have been told by the
world that we need to own, sharing it, the birth of
a consciousness collecting itself from all of humanity,
the skin touching each of us into a neat package of lovely,
the fortune, foggy, alert, even, severed, together, untied and united,
the individual undone done into undividual.
this is a change, unbelievable, the death of money.
the death of parking. the beginning of movement and planting.
the ending of forever, in a together, unchanging changing change.
an ode to. [unfinished sentences of paradox and nonsense]
|