Saturday, March 10, 2007
~ for Rob & Elka
Turning the inside in makes a cut
In air material here our hands
And tools die to make us
Instruments if not a tunnel
For their labor recollected
By triumphal sections time squares
Lived rooms since we are sometimes
Wherein air nets mesh to sky again
The dead or dig a portal to
Lived chips actually tend to slivers
See nothing notwithstanding
The roof without its house
Conveys me as you push us around
Where time won't be put the *socius*
Remained we must be exactly
This consequence of saws as they cut
A shade to lift light from the impossible
Places posited in actual structure
Evictions stand-still in our immanence
Transcendence is already against
Beginning or end text cut trace
Unredeemably over our heads
Elsewhere remiss in cindered dawn
Design begs to be demolished
Fresh Kills cut to any gull any blood
In our backyard Niagara's dead
Return from property relations.
Like we were this zone
So you say of magnets Poland
Recovered in Ukraine as one sings
You become a virgin
Of insalvageables remaining
This saintly video blue
Aglow in innocence drawings
The paint in your motions there
Already arrived aflicker with gifts
Exposures so you say
Of fields we sacrifice that this
Is an economy to wander for.
Who falls on time but is not time fallen?
This piece of you grows
To a process removed
From totality mythology
Is dead to me whenever
You are here I am also I.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
~ for Rob Halpern
"Psyches are butterflies, but souls are also bees."
"How weapons die every day"
Undeadenned to life's ringing
Furious buzz of telepathy
Calls from our "future dead"
In any desert of this "stench"
Neither here nor sometimes spectral
Wax contents our doubles
The ways each murder remarks.
"The desert became the past"
We are this heat-seeking and *I* is that "X"
Of combs cacophonies and cells of bees
How come we've come to this
Measure at wax atelos inflict
'Friendly fire' in dawns of disappearance
What futurities were still ours to inflect?
"I wanted to take a picture but all I could do is dance."
I want to feel your softer targets
Softer fingers on the buttons of that
Non-site sighted not being when we were
Here together abuzz in which forms
Joy arrives in becoming husbandry
They're "every name in history" thus number must be
A place of "stench" dissembled
True names redoubled in "sunlit holes".
"For they were the dead, and vengeance was their life."
What eyes are not in-sightful
What *I* "not any longer I" yet
"Entity" now "semi-intelligent"
Like weapons dying into a *beyond*
It broke was actually beside
Like certain dissolves repeat
A second time seen from a vantage
Of backs 'out-of-body' experience.
"It's as if the gulf were without history and not one of its effects."--Rob Halpern
Missiles sing of *me* half-lives
And residual deaths if ever
To feel these firsts of distant futures
The past anterior so pronominal related like.