boistering

Monday, September 20, 2004

Ripped Garden

too intense the light
forward across carpeted light I say
LIGHT IS WHAT I NOTICE AND THEN SHRINK
backward from it to my self as self becomes
the say I light is calm
as if it were No Thing but Fabric
FACILE TENDENCY TO EXPLAIN DOESN'T WORK
no work carpeted light shrinking before
any voice thee to shirk the day time world
spinning in FAST MOTION these nonce planets
out of it lost among breath and self
"traditional psychodrama" doesn't work
NOTHING WORKS ANY MORE THERE ARE THREE FACES
I see the face and know it is false
I see the falseness of it and know it as surface
beyond it, beneath there are twisting organs else worms
to notice this if only for a moment AND GO BACK
TO PAN DOWN AMONG THAT PANIC AND ZOOM SWIFTLY
there are no explanations that work any longer
to see the inner workings and then attempt to return
to your life is false and we do so and realize this
and misspell misspeak mistaken there are no mistakes
when all is prerecorded I TURN ON THE TAPE RECORDER
RE-RECORD WHAT I THOUGHT I KNEW AND KNOW AND
backwards toward the beginnings of my life sit in a garden
of fiery excuses, epilogues
create your own inclusion
consciousness goes on stilts doesn't
remember your name
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