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Pomes

SKETCH 4

If the fourth dimension is time

(which it must be)

then the fifth

is the force that infects

your soulmotions

how deeply into your heart

something accomplishes.

Now all dimensions

must (exist) (simultaneously)

and the hardest

to draw must be the first—

so basic

but the fulcrum

of all complexity

indelible artifact

marked up with its own fame

two, three = too easy

one

and four

meet to form

what we see as binding

a cord of time

corded flat motion

accorded

by shape

by purpose

white sweet bee

lace of flatness

petals of happening like grains of rice

HOT DONUTS

Let be be finale of seem.

The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

                                        –Wallace Stevens

You’re so used to resisting

This plea that you’re

Able to tell me all the times when you had to listen to Kayleigh regale you and beg of you the times when the sign was on—visible from everywhere on campus—and you’d have to tell her no,

Kayleigh, you’re drunk

You don’t need donuts but there was no reaching her when it was

HOT DONUTS.

THE EGO OF STORY

I am the storyteller am

the protagonist I am the

listener who reconciles the three.

 

We like to hear stories of

ourselves like to see pictures of

ourselves and so of course we find

ourselves in the three.

 

I am the consequences am

The relativity am the

equilibrium that hangs among the three.

TIME & SIGHT: THROUGH THE MIRROR

OK, I’ll bite: what if we can’t walk through mirrors because our reflections are in the way?  If we could somehow hide ourselves, somehow become clear and vast and constantly rotate around ourselves, turning on our atoms, maybe we could approach and breech.  Speed will make us harder to see—but what we see and what the mirror sees are two different things.  Mirrors reflect; they are a second stage on which this reality exists.  Spinning speed will blur us to a human watcher but a mirror will pirouette with the best of them.  Anything that is possible in real time is possible for a mirror to see because it does not see with its eyes but with its whole face.  There is no eye-brain coordination, just an eye, no lag in the live broadcast because there is no broadcast, a mirror is a static thing which displays others’ dynamism.

Maybe we could sneak up on it in the dark?  But light is only an impediment to the human eye, light lines the perimeter of our range of vision.  To a mirror, dark is the same as light, only less complicated.  Mirrors are not slaves to the light, are not slaves to making meaning as we are; no analysis, no biases, no opinions, only purity, only truth.

You can only see the present in a mirror.  You can wave and remember the placement of motion, but by then it is a memory.  You can try and wish a glimpse into the future but you will only see a reflection of your current understanding embodied by your hopes reconciled by your best guess projection.  But mirrors really only tell you on thing: now.  One of the problems with sneaking up and walking through is that as we approach we get bigger and bigger until we reach our full size.  Maybe if you were to stand far enough away—to become small enough of a threat—and if you knew a way to skip a few bars of time and how to run in the void between light and darkness, to be cloaked in neither—you could get in.  If you ran fast enough.

SKETCH 40

Where does sound go?

between buildings

along streams

with children

through ice cold winter snow jackets on hills around mountains

in circles with itself

from one ear to the other

it stops at the edge of water, waits a minute before warbling in

coasts from whistling stormcloud to stormcloud

sweet cirrus hear from afar

under houses and through buckles and bicycles

splashing out of all bathtubs

snaking through trains of gentle camels

in brightness, darkness, twilight

hitchhiking with the wind everywhere

chasing falling objects, mostly chasing the kersplat of their impacts

coming between collisions

clipping all scissors

rolling out from under squeaky shoes

in the orchestra of each thunderstorm

under the violent, long fall of a raindrop

at the bottom of each birdflap

between the porch cracks of human sadness

with all languages

the same way rain

falls down dripping gutters

 

SPRING BREAK BRAIN

We all have spring break brain

its not our fault

full stuffed from vistas and olives

famished for our beds

weeping inwardly at the thought of happy harvests

from our own gardens

We’ve been away, forgive us

getting started is the hardest part.