(seasons greetings to Robert and Daria)
That you weep and in weeping
are both the mother and child
mother of that difficult delivery
child of that difficult birth
that you are me and I am you
given to a relation of difficult
sympathy sympathy of the "God-
head" who can never be both
whole and created except when
we pray except when we attend
letters sympathy of the whole
for its creation these broken
shards of Being their radiance
sympathy of that which turns
to its creator as a broken thing
with the never-assembled never
all-known whole when you said
this that you were both mother
and child weeping I almost cried
for difference when you say
such things I die into life
sympathetically difficult tonight
the voices of plastic snow flakes
lit-up receded when "we" was
similarly difficult walking
the broad sidewalk together
with no hand to touch us just
the apprehensions of “otherness”
without eyes to commence
what sight sees when we can’t
what site what cant in eyes there
is no ‘disinterest’ except when I
is interrupted larger desires begin
Self with a capital “s” everything
had the look of interior actually
being exterior the train platform
felt narrow and was narrow in
fact from all the body could feel
thereby tell the plaster peeling
off the wall a wreck with history
so history itself was also us so
touched and the whereabouts of
words the wherewithal of all words
we couldn’t taste were doubts
there are forms that do Express
ionism better ‘say saying’ cry
a cry of exile we are given to
the difficult births of this season
the “holiday season” one should
not say Christmas this is not
a Christmas card one should
not for the far-flung difficulty of
every light plastic or not the
ground of which being should not
purchase this isn’t 'epic' nor is it
ordinary the way those flakes
don’t fall given to their reproducible
sense forms which continue of
every consumer conscience the
economy which gives us I wanted
to cry for them too since they
are also created plastic is also
a product I wanted to cry for
them as we do for us alone and
the coffee house with its good
intentions that wasn’t you and
the duplexes and other houses
one normally doesn’t see in the
city that wasn’t you and the little
restaurant with its organic
foods that wasn’t you all such
intimacies and good intentions
that must amount to something
if only what they exclude in this
season of the undead when one
tailors their pants with their
shrinking bones in this season
when one suffers distantly the things
the sensations of the world war
didn’t bring home the reduced
numbers of a body count cele
brated as peace distractions from
another brewing war so we were
before it the "you" and "the camel"
the camel and us both I hope we
are not merely being eschato-
logical nor should our sympathy be
reduced to season’s greetings
anything that could be gained
by wishing alone as you recognize
this sympathy our tears are a
susceptibility to everything would
countersign us counteract in a
friendlier fire of 'pure means' become
body we wanted to know what a
'subtle body' could do welcoming
of antigens adieu supple to any
thing might otherwise destroy it
its real power in listening attuning
and adapting so I hear these guns
far away as unreal as they are here
in my head and become them
a buzzing of bees want their friend
ship to destroy me to not do
this world any further harm these
tears this cry was the cry of every
antinomy given to ‘weeping as not
weeping’ a ‘remains’ when we
should not be "I" any longer
we seek such Charitas in ducts
gusts of every brief madness fever
that heals we seek this Charitas
in guns will have no other site than
to be revealed by veils becoming
eyes torn at them what potential
tears you and I you as you me as me
in difficult sympathy susceptibility
"ever-lasting" 'perceptual eternity'
liveforever my tears and die outside
make them a sign of life and no
longer death-affirming grasp this
preanimate means which was ‘my
life’ whether genetics or the face
one would lose to save "highness".
