Thursday, January 20, 2011

behind all these parts


And why this body, and why this eye?
This friendly fire's not friendly at all:

I burn and embody a ghost in your (soon
to be our) car, which divides us from the Divine

and even the small:

look how I shiver under the weight
of my own anger, of my own wind:

roaring through my nerves
and certainly conquering the least of these

in the fire, and under the fall;

I backpedal there, sometimes even achieve
a neurotica of neurosis. And you the reader,

believe behind all these parts there is

a whole.
There's not.


The Greatest Achievement of Our Age is simply
a line of declarative statements that omit

all meaning except something like politeness,
whilst we expound the exponents of perspective.

And there is a perspective that there's not. Of
course. And there is, of an orange,

an orange I hold, peel, love briefly, and eat:

I know what is real when I taste what is real
and eat. My teeth puncture the skin

of the earth, of the whole universe;
there is enough dirt leftover . . .

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