A word,itself the whole sentence,but a verb onlyaction pure action;no subject no object,never modified;a verb unchanging,no past or future,no over-and-gone,no not-yet —-never that!Forever.We did not then know whatForevermeant —-means.For the everthat is thisdayyearmoment —-For the everthat is notall of themtogether.
All of themone,one only —-So noof-them.The ForeverThat is this oneheldembracedkissed —that is thisone mouthone breathone flesh —that is notan everyone,anyone.The Foreverthat isMe.Me only.Both of Me.So: UsMe.Me only.Both of Me.So: Us
Crazy man in a crazy townstriding down the sidewalktalking to someone:urgent, urgent —-talking into a red telephonewith the cord trailing behindplugged into nowhere,red phone hot-line:urgent, urgent —veering over to some curbside cansand pulling off the clatter lids.Five cans full of great stuff!Call you back...All right...Keep you on hold...Gotta talk to the garbage now.Urgent, urgent.
Painting in the darkeverything night blackthe black mix of all pigments,the black absence of color.When I finish the lastthere will be a retrospective,the body of my life work:On wall after wallblack on black on black.Everyone will be therenibbling at exotic tastes,sipping bubbled winefrom crystal glasses,and talking ear ache talkingin trailed off artspeak sentenceswithout verbs or periods.I will watch from somewhereas they recognize their portraitson the featureless canvas squares.The last of the proto-realists,I paint pictures of peopleonly of people,so I paint in the dark.
Intimatelyintimidatedby a breathingnot all my own —as slight as a sighflowing through the dreamsof dry leavesbeneath fallen trees —the sign of thingssaid all wrongso long ago,dead but ungrieved —not yet gone offfar enough.
Monotonous dots walk the wallson the faded papernever making up their minds —up or down, orback or forth, ordiagonal angle.They seem to search for somethinghidden in the thicketof wandering rhomboidsit might be a simple squaredot dotdot dotor the infinities of points thatroll sun-stars into fire tospin off round blue worlds andtwine helixes into me.I wait for sleepand watch themcreatingwatch themsearchingwhile I lie herein plain sight.
Open One Eye
I intend to open an eye —either one first,only later the other.Never both together at once;just one at a time.Otherwise dimensions happen,lines of sightleading off from meto a vanishing point.If I look with both eyesit will be there to see,then the next thingwill be to go to it,and into it.And I knowthere will be no looking back:to where my eyes were closed,and I could dreamwhatever I wanted,and everything slipped aroundvanishing pointsat the last moment,and I could dream onand keep looking back,dream and look.
The Deep of Tears
Unhidden faces seenthrough streaks of rain,eyes and mouthsin wet running lineson glass panes--eyeing insides of dropsescaped from open sky,mouthing overheard wordsin storms of soundsthat fly overheadsurrounding infinite bonescurved and stretched outarticulated into dreams —who distort to stirfrom sleeps of rain,who ever peer in on usthrough our smeary windows.