Sunday, February 9, 2014

A Language

I am here    it seems    every morning
about each last night
You are near
when you are not
you hear my translations
this glowing growing narration

Contrary to what it seems
I don’t believe
I have ever been away
from you at all   Never far
I don’t believe I had yet become
begun to become
alive to the unrealized
headed toward causation     And then
                      is why
all that I cannot say comes here  As formal
instinct     Molding      You the means
or the mounting
                       I wind around
You are near as the words
fibers and filaments of a story
glories and fibers of truth
staring right into each feature of the narrative
where the writing lulls

These poems are love letters though words will
never suffice written or sonant
because the space these lines take still lack
the means
to state
the state
of balance now created    
These poems   Terms
twisting the formula
to its breaking point
until the everyday day
breaks too
Repetition increasingly
                  necessary in the simple
                   explanation of

What was
never possible
has become  Or
  another way of saying this might be I think I knew you
  in a former life
and now
 that life
has rematerialized 

You are my other  Self  The lost twin
yes  A brother  Storm shelter 
Soothing childhood wounds
you never suffered
Smoothing out every urge to flee by pulling down
                                             the covers
                                                      or the shades        
in what you bring or teach

And I only struggle
when staring into silence
which feels true to me like something
which can be done   I am believing
splatters could form an abstraction
      actualize art       
I am
definition for impression
I am inventing
   a language

no one understands but you   Words alternate
morph and the instructor sways
her head   explains that this
    is not the way
it is done     I have labored over
long division and missed
the fact
that this is
mere addition

What is the one underlying metaphor
 for this phenomenon

 I am merely tiptoeing
around the edges
 of exactly
what I’m trying to say

swirling for taste    but you and I created
a language in the perimeter
of a cradling
    and now the synergy
of our lips
makes sense

so find me in this continuum
converge with this axiomatic urgency
to keep
the drums that beat in unison
asleep and echo instead in your own voice

No comments:

Post a Comment