From October/November, 2017.
Not just Meta….but punny too….
caught up in the catching of the caught
when the sky lets go of its light
…and the catcher gets carried away….
all that fall
in the sleepless lap of the earth
“To say anything—the mere effort alone—is a form of abandonment, an act of distortion. We can’t pin the world down in words, but there’s incredible pleasure in attempting to chart the slippage.”
from being to saying
there is pleasure
in the tearing away
abandoning the seen
for the said
it’s the tension
between the two
between the too
this is my twelve day. this is my seven. this is my feeling like i can't go on any longer. this is my porcupine poking the sky. this is all there is that's left in the pie, and this, well, this is what you get when you combine the one with the other but the one won't work and the other won't cooperate. this is the feeling that i wake up with every bonecold morning and this is the meaning of the book in your eye that i can't wrap my head around and this is this and that is that and these are the things —the thin things—that we leave to our children and hope beyond hope that they will match up in a way that makes more sense than we can make, in a way that makes more sense than we have or have ever had, it seems, and the fire is under the pot and the sky is in the pot and the fire is in the sky and it is boiling. it is not rolling yet but it still is not still and it still is not anything that we can call our own and it is just in this way, the way in which the trouble moves in the liquid from the bottom up the outside and down the inside to the bottom again and again and again until it’s all gone, until the pot is a hot dry mouth screaming at the sky and it cracks and bursts in the face of the kitchen and the kitchen will never sleep again. the kitchen will always be open. the leaves will blow right in through the open door and they will roast themselves slowly—so slowly—right there on the open floor.