Distribution Automatique

Saturday, October 18


The tone of voice is an imprint.
The particular rhythm, the emphasis
The hesitations. I am reminded of its timbre
(So long ago) of the ordinary reality of that time
A nostalgia for some particular. Stops
Which are not fit for comparison because
An echo, in the beginning or the end
Is not just one, an echo repeats and
Therefore extends its singularity. Blue, for
Instance, guards and abjures its composite
Structure, and in that simplicity, undermines
And fragments its discontinuous image in
Measured intervals. Having brought them that
Close, breezy elements, places and abstracts
Specific references, now drawn thin,
Splits the nature of distance across its solitude
Changes and hastens the burnt taste of false beginnings,
Electing to shift words away from strangeness
In a flight of common pictures, forming the
Least stress of inflection before and next to
His insignia (this insight). Such forms are yet constant
And identifiable. They represent the command "Retract!"
The tinny, electronic sound of a machine's voice.
These scratchings mark the place where thought was born
Hoarse throat, shaken head, eyes misty and far away.