Saturday, October 01, 2005


If I am to be committed
To transcendence, to merely say that
There is a body is not

Yet to deal with it
, if my looks go
Everywhere they are
Selfsame slaughtered by the manner

In which they snag, a car
Illuminates in panic every thirteen
Minutes or so and it’s driving

The neighbors nuts as the socioeconomic
History of golf pollutes
The branch in the hand of the kid

Swinging at an imaginary
Ball, the handshakes
Here are reversible, we touch

Touching the way these fall dragonflies
Flee the invisible weft
They sew into the air that unites

Above our heads, today’s weather
Report calls for abundant
Sunshine as a man with a limp

Plods past the girl
Asleep in her tiny camouflage
Bikini and if she dreams

Of the secret blackness
Of milk
, it’s only these pinks
Lazily invading

Her back as a sigh
Descends over the scene while the girls
Put on their shirts and we must

Recommence everything just
Moments after it’s begun, the sun
Shines abundantly down

Upon the clouds, or briefly
Breaks on the totality
Of a dog, or our impression

Of the totality of
A dog and there’s something
About lived life that leaves

Itself in intractable
Tufts upon the heart, it’s tough
Being a thing

Which understands enough
Of what it means to be
Seen to see others in the nightmare

Of consciousness, which is nonetheless
A dream, which is nonetheless
A choice without choice, spiraling

Like the intertwined black
And white on the disc
Of the hypnotist, whose colors

Remain fixed, we remain
Unconvinced by the spectacular
Passing of modes, want

Our ears near the frequencies
Of I hear myself
With my throat
and what the throat

Thinks we drink
, let
The very next idea that enters
Your head represent all

Words that never made it to the page.


jon said...
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Tom Naka said...
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