Un-Sun*

Nearer to know less before afterward schism in sun.
– Susan Howe

Michael writes of sun, but all I can think
of is sunsickness, too much in the sun
never a daughter. As if God’s
light still shone on we who have shaded
our eyes.
– Charles Bernstein


Hardly veritic
a bold sun
moves below
(a sun, the son)
assuming place

Emptier
than light itself,
more weightless than any
two year old
mule.

Hardly
can we get
a rise noon sinks
to what we
sup

What wine won’t
pass and
bread any longer,
commoner solarized?

Return to ‘dark
rooms’, dark star, exposure
their
swashbuckling a
gnostic shadow show

But there won’t be
this reckoning,
pilgrim
let it be said ...
no birds surprised, no sun arrived
in this film’s unmaking.

Surprise us we are
still
trying to wake
up from ourselves this history
of night sunlight
burns
caesuras half-deferred
flies in the appointment.

Up-late with
Descartes
the owl flies by night
but we are still here
(We are
we are still
still here)
chiasmic as
the present is long
and hangs
like the hives of deixis
in hell’s
equal reverse.

We are still here ...
the bandage eventually
becomes
the face the mind
has concrete
for ears the better
to cover us with

Chiasmic as
a moment is never an ‘event,’
and an ‘event’
never
an ‘occurrence,’ and
an ‘occurrence’
never a
‘route’ of ‘concomitant parity'.

The poetry must give shade as well.
It was always gonna rain
(when it should not).

*Composed Summer 05