nextfrom The Preverbs of Tell: News Torqued from UndertimeWitnessing the Place AwakeEvery word tells the poem it is. Say the never said. I hear what I'm saying here with your ears. Poems talk to themselves when you're not around. Hear from afar what sees itself near. There's no end to reading two ways at once. Language invents poetry to be free of human limitation. Every letter hides its permission to write like no one. A line rides between the sides. Dance on me till I rise again. Some sentiments alter the intention after the fact. My eye saw her first, then I caught on to its life of its own. What you are reading is marked by the previous reader. I thought her in waves standing on my own two feet. I was a verbal object until your eyes found me. I am what I see seeing me. Beginning zeroes its bang, audible still. The present point in time is relentless. A line is a flap. Put on a living mask to get rid of the dead one. The torque of the hand writing a word swerves the sword. Every shoe you walk in is yours in its own way. Music leaches from words. Connection by disjunction is a sound function. Mime means, time dreams from within. Suprasegmentals travel in drag. Thresholds go both ways regardless. Conjunction by declaration is the word having its way with sounding itself. Aroused hands contain space. Executing a line is catching flies. A reading traces the foregone until it freshens. A thing said is a matrix. A fold has another right under. Hover here in the crux of the matter. Declare the space to be as it is. Meaning here is a firefly phenomenon. A true line knows me before I do. Tell to know. A line is a surface on which I'm free not to resemble my kind. Say something for each of your possible hearers. Apparel their lines to wear in time. Let slam what comes open. Suspend protective misreading long enough to get lost. Write before. A line longs in its nature. Engrave a text to show it to its future. A line is secretly endless. Worship in a word-where it happens through itself. If I read the line after her it's already excited. The only dumb word is a numb word. May her long beautiful body stretch out on my longing line. Say the thing motivating inside. Who you are reading echoes a previous reader. There are poems that don't like us. A brash sound is a rash in hearing. Dying is always now. Precisely programmed time stretches back to retrofit intention. Get your lies excited enough to spill their seed. I am one of me. Text stays home weaving your present as it is. Poetic force labors to return to its self, giving life back. Words by nature particulate a world surfacing. Everything that says itself makes a music too. Time angles to let you through its unknown side, here confessing. Poems are indifferent to the reader's taste. The deeper the line the wider the jam. Seeing you gives me a new eye. Get a grip to loosen lips. Affection disinfects. Revenge is calling a line bad because it won't read to you. The world grinds its teeth to hear itself think. The threat of lying is always near. Reach over and nab yours. Two or more gather in name where I appear. She doubles in his heart to give his tongue its other edge. Jamming meaning murmurs a music of crowding receivers. Definition is a point of departure. Gender is language engendering the difference it can't handle. Now is dying as we speak. My vocabulary is still doing it to me. Take suicide, add it takes all kinds, notice the disappearing names. A line is a Hell of a lot of meaning. Words mean what they say behind your back. Get used to being used. Suicide is performative in the very thought, to get the upper hand on death. Saying is trying something on to be shown through. A telling verbal retells itself truly variable. How many great lines do I have to lose before I let go of great itself? You still think syntax is a walkie-talkie but it's only a rangefinder. A preverbal line serializes its words. Undertime undermines its rimes until mind shifts and its burden lifts. Poetry leaches from stones. The little individual down inside is climbing toward this hole as we speak. Say the thing motivating itself. Meaning, dreaming and dying have knowing frequencies. I like my arm, she said, it's sweet. Eat your words. Look out! Everything does when you look into it. You can imagine throwing your arm around a sensual stone. The threat of dying is always new. Reach in and grab yours. His vocabulary is still doing it to us as we speak. A saucy soul says more the less you grasp. Let it be by showing. Flesh wears seasonably well. Even the word dumb is not as dumb as it looks. Verse reverses verbal drift with a variable. Born before annals, worn in time to tell, shorn feeling forlorn. Take dictation from instant presence. Six feet under the matter walks three ways at once the waking dead. Rereading's life trying all over. A little death goes a long way. A ripe soul says let it rip. Swallow hook, line & sinker for the big digest. Just noticing is a faith. Think unto flesh. It's still now. next |