Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Sunday, February 24, 2008

After Reading Tyrone Williams’ *On Spec*

Which arrested waves words cant
Light unclarified shake agreement
Qua language qua onus qua malice
Qua race qua riot qua equal signs
Often lie to tell the truth powers of
The simulacral babble of towers
Print it on our backs and what was
n’t and what was a subject blurs
Us looking up on high what is too
High thus isn’t anything to feel me
To tell it how we do tarrying too
Bright on spec where too much is
Seen some dark therefore withheld
So this was us a commons remains
Or as they say "a discourse" in lieu
Of “bruised blood” and blues cf.
*Come Out* by Steve Reich, 1966.

What a sight for sore eyes ruins con
fide reflect too much “as” lisps and
History forges us corruption wipes
The lips clean where we aren’t wor
ds can’t be anything sighted corrupt
ible at their source recourses force
reigns here qua mistake qua stupidity
qua over-produced qua “the voice”
doing the voices futures overheard
like a black box recorder pitiless a
pitch of disaster muffled as we mig
ht be if history didn’t echo so much.

Maybe coevalness despairs of us
Related by our simple rooms and
What words do like bodies prove
That we are here and here is some
where something different than th
is the geni of deixis we wish we
Could put it back in the bottle the
Rabbit of metaphor back in the hat
So damaging do all words seem to
Use them appropriately one would
Do more harm my unredeemable
Love all the creatures God forged
Out of hate instead of love like any
Whim we will be shored by no oth
er ruin than economy related by fas
hion and art indifferent to the spi
rit when in doubt choose union cho
ose synthesis tho only the wrecked
Should be saved and mind irrupts.

Tendencies erasures anchor percept
ible worlds of flight fight clubs cra
nes building to no good end ‘cause
No end seems good pure means only
Where I touch you and when we do
not withdraw into our separate light
Monads of my heart open a window
I am afraid so afraid to be alone in
The dark truer dark of being alone
With one’s powers an abaton of the
Will whole worlds with their tails
In their mouths self-ingesting I wa
nt you in my mouth to share a world
Imponderably coeval ungraspable
What grasps you "if I was you, if you
Were me" when being wasn’t a ficti
on most of all I wanted us to touch
To make me otherwise than I was.