The return to sound, the return to the sea, the part of nature with its own voice. This is its translation from the original thoughts. The sea increasing, the thoughts unceasing. A metaphysical equation connects the two. Always going back to the beginning, the sea and the sounds of the sea in one unceasing displacement. Nothing can cover it or hide it. Sheer naked energy that can't be stopped.
The poet asks: what intentless signal could I bear to dream? The sea is an abyss, I stand wordless at its precipice. At the boundaries some things coalesce.
All of my poems are about going away..
The Symbolic Universe
Not male or female
But female in relation to female
female in relation to male
male in relation to female
male in relation to male
not war or peace
but peace in relation to war
war in relation to peace
not black or white
but their relation
In the secret room of secret
writing there are no secrets. You
do it for another reason. Absolutely
what is eliminated.This was first.
Avoid the bombs with an s-weave.
Something gets stuck on the edges.
Even with the slightest bit of that
you'd know what you tested. If this
isn't one long English lesson, what
is it? You can hear the echoes.
You can hear the lessons. Starting right
back there at the beginning with an
ideologue.As long as you can watch.
It is spinning. As long as you can
This is a test.This is a test of
what you can make of it. What you can
make of remembering, what you can
make of listening, what you can make
of living. If it isn't philosophy, what is
it? What it is, it hard to be serious
about. No time to be serious.
It is more like wrestling than dancing,
To enter into a whirlpool of helplessness
for no other reason than to get some
words on a page. For no other reason than to
read. Words on a page.
A displacement of cravings. Is it
you or is it me? A fear: some symmetry.
As dew drives up a flower, the
ink dries upon the page, the words
dry upon the mind. It's just that
if it's in your/my/our vicinity
we will want to control it.
Can I close the book? To
play the priest you must hide.
The inverse of reasoning is not
going crazy, not sleep, not an
avoidance. Be willing to end. To stay,
to go back.xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx It's quiet on the
sidelines. A gardner would not
perfume her own flowers, nor a
poet her poems. This was heard on
A circle is drawn. Are the
books reading me?