It is late and I have written
little since the last time. Life goes
on in a pleasant way. Listen;
the far off cliff collapse echoes.
The world is a large onyx slab.
The noise drowns us, the moon crater
is the most fear we’ve ever had.
And a floating baby later.
There is nothing left to say – this
is a machine placing patterns
upon patterns, until we miss
something and the pattern shatters.
Where we’re going, you don’t need eyes
to see that things are going wrong.
The way I stand silent and try
not to move. For fear of the strong
feelings that arise within me
when life moves nowhere. And the brush
I paint with dries out. Can we be
clearer? Perhaps, but there’s no rush.
You can always ask what I mean.
And we will elaborate words
in forces and objects that seem
helpless, and all we’ve ever heard.