Monday, January 24, 2011

The public words will show it, I hope
The dark-side of our being
In common the side of light –
Letters, sparks one does not control

Those forces of ghosts, chora or life
On the bottom, potentia in which difference
Lay between them – letters, sparks
That are not translatable like knowing

Is transported, like skin across con-
tinents, what must be defended –
combatant friend – made us what
We are – words are only the shade of

Given to these feints ways they fuck
Our shit up, ways we fuck up
Their shit, like skin color or religion
Indwells each attempt to kill

The neighbor like I wasn’t an other –
Like you weren’t me – stomping above
My coffin, which is the self alone –
The couple enclosed by four walls

Instead of a commons – that is what
We mean when we speak of language
As a means of death, or death by design –
Represented by church and state

Codified emblems of who we is,
A community without the there is –
Community as a form of alibi
Wherever the names stick.

1 comment:

Old 333 said...

Interesting. Loved the image of letters as sparks - stick with me, it will (in tones of yoda).

Well, off I go back into the wild blue aether.

peter