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01 June 2016 @ 06:07 pm
she hears as much as she can see  
the way we exist in space and time. the way space and time remembers. dense and impermeable, a matter only for laboratory science and the archives, or soft and malleable, something enhanced by the imagination, something made into forms and shapes we can use to enhance the present moment. we are ever on the cusp of the next moment. we are ever on the cusp of eternity. listen for the way being comes into being:



the structure of the matter informs the outcome. the direction it will take. the ways it plays on sunday. tall and certain or moderately meandering, there are checks and balances and names we take in our daily striving to control who and how we are seen to be. the way we exist in space and time. the way our chemistry takes to memory. tall standing and sure of surfaces, ever coming into form: who we are how we are, every matter that made us established somewhere on legal forms or medical waivers or astrological charts documenting not simply abnormal toe counts or interference with the first breath, but the station of venus, where saturn fits by degree, where the sun and how the moon, chiron and pluto, is it a matter of totals, is it a manner of degree?

here we are on the cusp of things, here we are not quite dedicated to the end or the start.

it's a shade of yellow that's a little green, it's a snatch of blue that's gone teal in the far corners. no one thing is ever simply one thing but then again that's a mechanism with which we ought to be familiar: a kind of performance art for those who don't perform, an art form for the artless.

build it up: the way we exist in space and time.

the way we consider: here again is our certainty, here again is our balance, here again is what we wanted to remember to do with our gains and resources, our method of working things through. is it in from the edge? is it out from the center? is it up for the game or is it glimpsing ambiguous matters with a sidelong, with a slow and long, with again what again was it that brought us to this?

i'm on the cusp of something, is what i'm saying, though i don't know what it could be because i've become so accustomed to playing along. so let me do that: feed me a line. tell me what to say here. first into the second, second to the fold, the old white and crumbling accounts we maintained so meticulously, the hot wet flaming moment eaten through. once i was an institution. once i directed matters from chaos into workable daily tasks. get to the dusting, the alphabetizing, the cooperate directives on how this space should be experienced. put the books in someone else's order: of course i wrote a poem about it. once i was a poet. once i came in from seemingly unrelated concerns and coordinated everyone's dwindling interests into something to really see. and like that in the certainty, and like that again.

and in the balance, in that weird construction, in the making of matters that weren't meant to be made: this is horrible. i mean, i'm falling apart. i keep using the same word. i make the shape of it even when i'd rather not. i start writing it again and try to redirect. scratch it out. loop it through. give it a new purpose. a new identity. a new way of living in the world. (how many times have i written that before?) there's a method to it, there's a way to nudge it into place. there's a gap to bridge, a fall you could take, a take to fall. juggle around the language. expose it for what it really is. smile and walk away. smile and keep walking. the way we exist in space and time. the way we remember. the things we forget. i wanted to mean something. i wanted to matter. i wanted to be cared about, a count in someone's favor, no accounting for

music: dark muse - reincarnation