"At the limit of these polar terms..."

Symbolic Gesture <--------------------------------------------> Ethical Undergoing

At the limit of these polar terms we may site the undecidable by unsighting. In the most extreme cases of psychotic withdrawal it is unknowable the reality of language and perception, or to what extent a subject is "acting". For Lacan of *The Psychoses (1954-1955)*, psychosis is always a question of articulation and to whom (what other) the subject speaks, imagining, intending however falsely, this speaking. If acting assumes truths against Truth (if one can act like another, or assume a role, they *are* that other, as "real" as that other) then it is neither ironic reflection or mystical/occult undergoing/withdrawal I am trying to locate discretely per se. But a chiasmus of experience and non-experience, sense and non-sense where this criss-crossing serves the ethical, social and political. An exterior beyond intersubjectivity, in other words. An exterior at a limit of interiority...

I associate... (What Tomb)

I associate
I

I diassociate

Eyes
(not)
Eyes

Helpless, eyeful

Tower

The child

Does not free
Me

When I am

Warm
I gaze

To paralyze
Or unray

Of what diassociates

The mouth

The fingers in the mouth

Of diassociation

What gaze
Misapprehends

Light

Becuase light

Thinks us too quickly

The genesis
Of this

Setting

(What gazes).


Print of spirits trees each
Idem spoon spoon idem spoon
Correlate correct the specimen death
Spoon vision specimen to blend

And blur persistence red
Persistence of vision distended
To burn, a print of the eyes
Not what they see alone

Retinal the socius calamity
Event calmity event intermit
Tint, to have reflected
Is not to yet reflect

Or be reflected, to be
Reflecting not yet, correlate refract
Vision to blend, pin brightly the
Specimen, autistic art each idem deathly.

Her Then (Reprise)

Her then then process reverses

Her then
Then process
Reverses

Her
Then then
Process reverses

Her
Then
Then
Process
Reverses

Her then
Then
Process

Reverses
Her then then
Process

Reverses
Her then then process
Reverses

Her then then process reverses

Her then

Then
Process

Reverses her

Then then
Process

Reverses her then

Then process

Reverses

Her then

Then process reverses

Her then

Then

Process

Reverses her

Then

Then

Process

Reverses her then

Then process

Reverses

Her then

Then process

Reverses

Her then

Then

Process

Reverses her then

"who'd died, yet who wasn't allowed to be really dead" (For a Radical Interior)

"In the hospital one has a strong sense of corpses floating up through the bedstead. Besides which I had a view of the morgue, people marching in and out with little coffins, in and out.
So I made believe that I was a little boy who'd died, yet who wasn't allowed to be really dead, because he kept on being woken up by telephone calls from the Royal Dramatic Theater. Finally he became so impatient he lay down and read a book."
--Ingmar Bergman on *Persona*

Next Breath Best Breath

For Arthur Russell

Your dreams
Come, near to you

Them, for
The child distinguishes

Between inside
Outside, the clouds

An argument like
Music we are here

Things can't help
Happening, where

There was something
There was something,

Proceeding to
Proceed, praising

Parsing, crossing
The syllogism of her

Brow, the bow
Given to Bach,

The lyric must return
Nearer than thought.

A Work of Withdrawal

To Kyle Schlesinger

Defaced: to occult

I propose to write a longer text that I would subsequently "withdraw" from the world: thru burning or blotting out, through an erasure inverse of the text's creation; not merely a crossing out but a coming into the world in reverse...

The more I come to value this text as part of my "experience" the more I can only imagine will its destruction be valuable to myself spiritually and emotionally, if not non-experientially. Erasing "me" -- a document of me: or a document of spiritual "work."

How to record the appearance and disappearance of spirit -- "materially"?
How to undergo an occultation, a withdrawal for revelation?
These questions are primary, if not too preliminary...

To lose my face.
To save the face of the Other, of others.
To save by losing and lose by saving.
To face-up or off with this paradox of saving, of response-ability.
To deface (should we also re-face, o-face, ab-face, pre-face, sur-face etc.)?
How to (face) lift to come (face) down?
Coming face-to-face by turning away, by separation, apartness, *Kadosh* (holiness).

Burning in reverse, erasing in reverse, striking-out in reverse, despairing in reverse...

Acconci Beyond Acconci (For a Radical Interior)

"Possibly, in earlier pieces, I used the body as a proof that "I" was there -- the way a person might talk to himself in the dark. So, with that assumption -- that the body was analogous to a word-system as a placement device -- there was an attempt made to "parse" the body: it could be the subject of an action, or it could be the receiver, the object (it should be noted that most of the earlier pieces were kinds of reflexive sentences: "I" acted on "me."
--Vito Acconci

To Edvard Munch

Scratch out all
But her
Literal
Whisper
The kerchief
Blood to
Paint blood paint
To erase all
Face
Her hands all
The details
What
Life corrupt in-
Corrupt
To erase the
Literal paint
Scratch out
Or cover
The details
Evoke
The literal death
Her then
Then process
Reverses

Proposition Hems

--for Eliza Newman-Saul


Use your hearing to see.

Then should we say, “Do you tear that”?

*

Alter this color blue without touching it or seeing it.

Put it elsewhere.

If blue can not be put here, put it here.

*

Each thought is a vestment rolling upon another vestment, opening.

Fold your thoughts as many times as possible.

*

Through the other side of everything you see.

*

Zoom.

*

In

*

Your eyes are not flashlight beams or headlight beams or spotlights or X-rays or animated gifs or surveillance devices or GPS satellites or cell phone headsets or distant video monitors with the contrast all wrong or torn billboards or a dissolve to white.

Your eyes are ___________________________

*

Thicken your ears.

Like concrete.
Like cake.
Like come.
Like money.
Like resemblance.

*

Before you think – hear.
Before you hear – think.
Before – you think hear.
Before – you hear think.

*

Fail to be similar.

*

Fault every union for despair.
Doubt empathy totally.
Criticize continuity.
Hate hate.
Fuck fucking.

*

Feel a function of thinking.

Imagine such a function without thinking.

*

Your eyes are convoluted (tied).
Your eyes are pink.
Your eyes are tweezers.
Your eyes are little Gods.
Your eyes get fucked when they see.

*

You are the glass our lips both kiss.

I am the fog on that glass.

We are the glass shattering but not the fog clearing-up.

Our eyes, like dreams, are made of milky blackness.

*

Preliminarily believe.

*

See “dream-images” near to eyes (30 cm.) and everywhere else.

See smoke aswarm with fear, “the primitive gloom”.

*

You are the glass our lips both kiss.
Remove these lips but not the glass.
Do not stare into this glass.

*

Stage each degree of being…

each devil, each name, each moment of history.

“The primitive gloom” and a conative light.

*

Fail to be different.

*

Put it here.
Hear it put.
Put put.
Hear hear.
Here here.

*

Reach inside inside.
Reach outside inside inside.

*

See through the other side of everything.

*

Preliminarily disbelieve.

*

Believe in belief only.
Doubt to believe.
Believe to doubt.

*

Put it there.
There there.

*

Picture a vacuum. Vacuum a picture.

*

Think with your ears.

Thicken your eyes.

*

THHIIIICCCCCKKKEEN.

*

Hallucinate the literal.
Hallucinate the littoral.
Hallucinate the clitoral.
Hallucinate the pictorial.

*

Compose for an hour in a minute.

Compose for a year in a second.

*

This color has no name.

*

Pretend your body can occupy no space.

What would this look like?

Draw a picture and bury it.

Call this place of burial the place where nothing can be put in space.

Call your body a sudden resting place.

*

Think of a correspondence between a color and a place.

Name this correspondence differently then both the color and the place.

*

Ignite the space your body can’t occupy.

*

The sun is a giant cataract.

Catamarans seem to float in the sun.

There is nothing similar about the sun and a catapillar except when we can see the solar sea.

*

Die. Cry. Spy. My. Arrive. Pie.

*

Divulge the true name of this sentence.

Change this true name and don’t divulge it.

This too is an event of conscience.

*

Believe in the value of this sentence.

*

As if… night were not upon you.
As if… you were all of the same substance.

*

Real people are actually ghosts.
Actual ghosts are blurry shapes.
Blurry shapes are often letters.
Letters are ceaselessly meaningful.
The ceaselessly meaningful is only real.

*

Make these words disappear.

This word, in particular, has no sense.

Blind the rest of the world for one second.

Imagine nothing then and only then.

*

See and hear nothing.

Be nothing.

Nothing nothing.

Be near nothing.

Nothing near.

Never.

Nearer.

Hear the clear light.

Make the voice in your head heard aloud as constantly as possible.

*
This ringing.

*

Play alive.

*

Nearer Nearer Nearest.

*

Have no image of yourself that is not the image of everything else too.

*

Move in time to move time.

*

Move time without time.
Move time without space.
Move space without space.
Move space without time.

*

to move time.

*

Hear shadows, the flaying of the sea.

*

Pretend a sea never existed to be seen.

*

lay live

*

“Is only real” “people are ghosts”.

*

Nothing as something.
Something as nothing.
Something something.

*

Through the other side of everything you see.

What Tomb (Some Questions for Matt Mullican's Bulletin Boards)

What pictures.
What pictures have in common.
What pictures death.
What fingers of dying.
What describes them.
What fingers of decomposition.
What poses made of light.
What is a pose and what is a picture.
What is the difference.
What has only transcendence.
What has no transcendence.
What is the lightness of dying.
What is a picture of death.
What is a picture of a corpse.
What is a picture.
What is only a picture.
What closes the eyes.
What eyes close.
What shudders.
What shudders when eyes are closed.
What distrusts eyes.
What eyes distrust.
What distrusts real eyes.
What makes death.
What makes dying death.
What makes eyes.
What desires.
What eyes desire.
What desires death.
What does death desire.
What is so like a tomb.
What is frozen.
What tomb.
What seems most like time unfreezing.
What seems most like time frozen.
What seems time freezing.
What is seeing.
What is seeing like.
What is seeing like when it is not like seeing.
What is seeing when it does not see.
What is to see.
What is a preparation to see.
What is having seen like.
What preparations do we make to see.
What preparations to have seen.
What do we do when we are not seeing.
What do you call one then.
What then does one call seeing.

3 Disassociations

For Matt Mullican

1.

To pin
down the finger
in its own skin

would close
our eyes
if the eyes would

how we consent
to pin down
a mode of pins.

Bulletins.
Bullets.
Ken.

2.

Close the eyes
light dark
toned

brightened refract
in spoons reflect
on shield

for certain a move
of eyes
in the painted

nears an object
of photography
let’s pretend

tend to
sit, still, while,
the world ends—

O another re-
flection, and O an-
other,

close your
eyes
for this world.

3.

Nature morte,
more your grim,
ace moves, or
tower, pinned
down, caption,
swells tongue,
more like a
gum, the blotter,
gummy
guns, of these
eyes,
bleed, a,
patina,
frost webs, meets
its own,
swelling maker,
wholly, twisting
like that,
frieze, gum,
to twist guns,
to hidden consequences,
turns, insider
of light,
or dark tons,
the movements of,
tuning the of,
of no longer,
for,
the light
in these trees,
accreting, those,
synapse below,
rage node lower,
attention range
brown noise,
limbic note,
liminal,
limn, signs
syncope
pictures,
to attention,
you really,
pin me,
an image
if I can’t think of
an image,
nor for then,
you, it is you,
I think of,
then,
not a
place as imageless,
as sex,
less
with fingers,
a kind of death,
a kind, death
in your sexless,
mouth man,
a part, the prose
rotting away,
the intimate, narrowness,
of hidden all,
in reflection,
chills, reflect
almost,
whiter,
like having,
they are almost like,
having, the world,
morose, or it is done,
with remembering,
done for,
distraction,
by disassociation,
the fingered, guilt,
of a blotted,
guilt,
a,
cross, me,
my less,
in, description,
blots,
too content,
to consent,
light,
a privilege,
gums
a twist,
to tongues,
the, print,
and smudge,
it singly,
pin,
discolorment
not,
in history, whiter,
of the subject,
fuzz stillness,
to have,
history,
all of the,
space of these eyes,
psyche,
to die for,
in this tree gazing,
between, we keep
things for the,
sunny,
towers to not,
see,
to see not

Antonioni (a point of indiscernibility)

Across Antonioni’s filmmaking, there is a recurrent moment of perception that may allow us to reflect on an emergent imagination after cinematic images. I believe that Gilles Deleuze touches on the potential of these perceptive moments when he considers Antonioni’s filmmaking in terms of what he calls “any-space-whatever” and Op and Son images in his *Cinema 2*:

"As for the distinction between subjective and objective, it also tends to lose its importance, to the extent that the optical situation or visual description replaces the motor action. We run in fact into a principle of indeterminability, of indiscernibility: we no longer know what is imaginary or real, physical or mental, in the situation, not because they are confused, but because we do not have to know and there is no longer a place to ask. It is as if the real and the imaginary were running after each other, as if each were being reflected around the other, around a point of indiscernibility."

The scenes of “any-space-whatever” that most interest me in Antonioni’s films, and which I would like to appropriate for this project, are ones construed too easily as hysterical. Beyond a clinical or “common sense” diagnosis of hysteria, the bodies of many of Antonioni’s most significant characters may be telling of a condition of psychic-bodily dissociation related to our present post-cinematic condition. What is sense and where is it located in space when the image one has of bodies related in space is elsewhere: withdrawn, discoordinated, psychastheniac (Roger Caillois)?

Continually this is the question I ask myself watching Antonioni’s films until his post-’68 work, Zabriskie Point (1970). Curious as a film after American counter-culture and social movements in the late-60’s (and not so different than any numbers of films in this regard: Hal Ashby’s The Landlord, Peter Watkins’ Punishment Park, etc.), Zabriskie is of particular interest to me as it presents a clairvoyant and senseless imagination in the face of social despair and political-judicial distopia -- the “states of exception” of the late-60’s/early-70’s American polis and a “globalizing” polis now.

Like any number of Antonioni characters, the female protagonist of Zabriskie puts the viewer into an ambivalent situation of perception, a point of indiscernibility (Delueze), in the final scene of the film: is she a terrorist in actuality, or does she only imagine the detonation of a bomb at the hotel? How does this scene form a mirror for the perceptive lapse earlier in the film that forces the viewer to adjudicate whether the male protagonist has in fact shot a police officer or if he is merely a hapless innocent? Moving from a meditation on such images shall we consider particular tactics for revolutionary violence not in terms of sensory-motor coordination achieved in purposive movement, but in terms of an eidetic imagination imminently destructive in virtuality *and* reality inasmuch as the real is increasingly determined by the virtual? If this project risks creating a critical fiction it does so only to mobilize factuality towards a new situation of demonstration and thought we currently bear witness to in the wake of “Terror” and other geopolitical quilting points.

Annunciation (Arise to Descend)*

Or why are we still working in this factory?
to Sasha Steensen

To come down by a movement in which gravity plays no part. . . . Gravity makes things come down, wings make them rise: what wings raised to the second power can make things come down without weight?
– Simone Weil

A pleasure to work
The stutter
The very veil of gravity
Do not fail me
Now these
Second wings
Work is a pleasure
To lovely
Innocents

Work is a pleasure
Blue work
No separate
Love
Of video monitor
How we really
Talk beauty
To make money
To make movies

To make money
The way we move
Blue collar blue
Of virgin pleasure
Huppert with
Hair cropped
The other
Like Falconetti
When is the face free
Of this feeling
When of this
Pain second
Wings to stutter
Of Weil verily

Moon bluish-white
When will we
Descend from
Lofty denials
From ascetic skill
Monitors of
Bourgeois pleasure
Work is pleasure
Don’t distinguish
Work from pain or love

To make money
To circulate power
Of this desperate snow desperate winter
Of this monitor
Design alights
Promising Delacroix
Such wings

The working sing truly
Arise to descend
On second wings
The working
The unworking
Sing truly
Will beyond will
Blowing harmonicas
The beginnings of sing

Beginning sound
Track
Beginning sound
Track beginning
Traces
Of blue rewind rewind
Defer a moment on
This unshepherded snow
Shadowing pleasant tolls

Our pleasure to work
Beginning with
This poverty of love
The fullness of love
Pleasures of debt
Blue makes everything
Seen and soon
Heard in this whistling
Track this harmonic noon
Heard by this harmonic blue
Difference between boss
And worker
Difference between
Factory and tv

Matters of these second wings
Descend arise
Point to pleasures of sky
Sky blue with no one trail
Noon shaped by silhouette

And love why are we
Separate
And why don’t we turn
Why do we
Still work
In this factory
Do we still love
The sight
Of paint as it lights up?

*composed Spring '05.

WHOF forthcoming

Currently I am trying to take WHOF off blogger.com. I am doing this out of want to not support a corporate site such as blogger, as well as to organize the blog more effectively. Here are two prototype images for the new weblog-site:

Hirschhorn Review at Fanzine

Check out my review of Thomas Hirschhorn's "Superficial Engagement" and other featured works at Casey McKinney's online journal, Fanzine (www.thefanzine.com).

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

Our Music*

Making for the tears of newsreel
And the images with-
out
Tears enough
Reversed by equal hell

This piano music drifts-off
Resonant with
Our image people
Will tend to be
Two
As lovers they do not
Love the one
State strives to be

An equal hell reversed
In a reverse shot
Making for
The tears of glory
Eros
Everyone’s terrible here
All they do is
Cut our heads off

Nuns submit, children throw
Bunker stones
Striving
To love the one
An anti-love
Come to me and flee to come
Numeric bits of stones

Come to me resonant with
The broken skin
Of image blood
Come to me resonant with
Notes spent more ingloriously

*composed Spring 05

Others Letters: Aysegul Selenga Tasken

3.12.06

"Thank you for
telling

me about
the

Shakers it

sounds

interesting
especially combining

contemporary

art with this kind
of rituals

I will check
it out

I was reading
your blog yes the

life & death
percieved

in Islam is really

very different
from the Christian

world but

actually I
am not sure

if it is right

to generalize
it

as Christianity

or Islam
because

different countries combine

cultural traditions
with whatever

religion
they practise Turkey

is a secular country
but has extremely

strong ties

with ancient history

and traditions
in Turkey

the dead
are buried under

the soil
with no

coffin

no clothes

no make-up
just wrapped

in a white linen

the idea behind
is that

the flesh
doesn't

have importance

but the soul has
so the flesh

should combine
with the soil

as soon
as possible

if there are flowers
spread
from that soil

it symbolizes

'new life'

and the relatives
of the dead
water

these flowers
on the tomb

the faster
the body becomes

one with nature
the better
it is

I thought
this might sound

interesting for you

as for my project
being close to home

well yes and no

today's
Konya is a very

conservative

almost fundemantalist but also
a very political

place I was born
and raised in Ankara

the capital
which is a very modern

secular city
you wouldn't

believe the mentality

difference between these
two cities

although the physical
difference is only

3 hours

Sufism is
an other world

the 'Asia minor' then
was much
more

sophisticated

and much
less political

than the 'Asia minor'
now

many people
are happy to associate

today's whirling dervishes

with recent politics
and with

the so-called
liberal

Islamic political parties

something
I cannot stand

luckily enough
the ideals

of sufi mysticism

remains
the same

Rumi highly

mentions the issue
of life

& death in his poetry

as for the rahle

it is not
exactly a chair
but

a reading board

a reading table
it has

an X
shape

and you place
a book

in the center

the person who reads
from rahle

sits

on the floor

on the cushions
I don't know

if you can find one

in this country or

at least
for sale

but I
was thinking
of

creating

one DIY”

ing ear*

to Jalal Toufic




Silent demonstrations in a wilderness in a wilderness where we meet in the sea you meet me in the sea because the sea is calmed because the sea is calmed it is a violence they are a violence of these silent demonstrations the waves demonstrations of an atom splay the screen we always watch we watch in silence escaping an awareness of audience

The meaning of every adjacency not merely arbitrary because there remains a world because there remains a world in the world we are a meeting more or less violent of waves in the sea their silent demonstrations fact of our watching protect me without from a murderous scene murder an image turn another page

Of our own watching she gave her back to me on a postcard advertising our own watching a murderous fact of the waves the screen is here for everyone to see the same vision these two taken together yet how distant they are

On a postcard of paradise guarding the guarded so we mark this watching an image can be murderous or the lack of all distinction an extra sound to our voices in the sea those silent demonstrations seabird calls repeat

Her back to me means we must protect each other from power overhearing our own watching a murderous fact let’s retake seabird calls a calling before the sea to find for an image protection fulfill this nothing

Fulfillment of this nothing of this nothing of this blank repeatedly the fire what is called the fire the fire what is called by name but if you call us by our proper names do we respond to history what is called from fire from heavy fire in those hills

On the knees on the knees for the night and thin thin for this burden this burden the body won’t eat is it for want of names for murderous facts or other points in space

If we can advance points by these circles fulfillment of this nothing the futility of our travels discover nine planets begin on the knees for the night and thin thin for the image compared bursts into instant song calming a frame a frame of wildness flame from dry strips of cloth and twig











In the woods losing the name you would be called by or in the mirror presupposing no life of the name that would guide you through this night that must be left to other hands

To other hands heavy fire loss of boundaries and gaining gaining upon the image directly a beam a beam from the bulb of our guided hands

Guide of our hands the illusory plucked petals of this time resurrect me resurrect a name without boundaries and magic magic of those progressive reversals of springtime

Gaining the horse upon the sound of the gulls tape displaces all voices images of a voice out of synch the small atavisms of these ways

Presupposing Chernobyl Sarajevo Iraq Palestine Sudan Rwanda Hiroshima Auschwitz Armenia...

Misinterpolations taken as amnesia
The latest life of the dome
Of the dome accruing to it the life of the countryside
Of olives figs milk and tea
Of the last taste of honey in a collective time
Stutter the passage of this recurrence
Points on a shifting interval of travel
Guide of our hands the illusory plucked petals
Every moment is initial of this springtime
A renewed assuming of names


















For how long the guide the guide of our hands through the streets these bombs no longer touch the distance of our ways they must be a unity of form to have remained alive for so long

Bring me to my name again forgiving that I have been gone from myself a little monument of a larger unity I hope these bombs won’t touch

His bleeding feet the animal when we arrive has called to me to bring it food a project of these calls across these desert walls their functions

A forum of gravity be a unity of form the animal among the traces of these walls what gazes is always of ourselves lately we have come to guide the guide

But let the aura be the means of our geography therefore our memory multiplicities declaring no light has yet arrived

But let the aura be a light in the world again after none could be called by their true names in truth the stones failed us so we kicked them down substituting for each petal a similar blindness of sense
























It arrives to arrive the beloved not merely loved a bead of these ways in caravan to see a wall as a prism hope of new phases

She is walking away from me in that garden where the guards are guarded and don’t speak to demonstrate the violence of an image she walks away with a horse it turns three times slowed by the edit on a beach before the broken waves

She walks away from me from me so I may see her name as a back turned an injunction to turn to guide the guide back

Back to me if we could be a name for nothing for nothing presents this green of a name of petals what virtue in reverse reversing power a pride of fathers plucked kingdom within a kingdom inaugural

Here to hear to hear this violence not seen seizes the silence of a violent naming Lear of a drama of power silent again after images in paradise the lines went spoken














To speak those lines those lines weep

of which we are nothing
an argument
demonstrates the waves

of which we are
an unsaying
of these horses waves ways
drawn away after the storm

no violence can accomplish this
an unmaking of forces
in a painterly universe
the frames of nothing the
titles record







those horses waves turning spray
spray no books with no letters no pages
pages became undeveloped
no violence can accomplish this unsaying

to hear those lines those lines wink
drawn away after this blank space
perhaps no one truly listens anymore
an argument in silence demonstrates the waves
non-action of her point

non-action in a painterly universe points
a universe of the gaze the horse draws away
non-action in a painterly universe
a field for the high and forgotten
surviving the forgetting

of children surviving
the forgetting of these lines
generation does / generation does not
non-action in a painterly verse
obverse of the gaze
shade towards forgetting
a field

weep for the forgetting
forgetting of those lines that weep
generation unsays its lines
this horse breaks into
its reverse
so can the waves



waves silent violence
heard for every new love
playful spraying a book
longing to be heard
and therefore seen
seen and therefore
heard

substitute these lines
these lines these
petals for me

substitute these petals
these lines these
petals
these lines for me




In a blank time
*composed Spring '05

"Instinct intent on its own preservation..."

"Instinct intent on its own preservation does not touch, because it does not encroach on cinders that replace distance but affect no space."
--Louis Zukofsky