[f. 82]
or: ordinary Poem
It is true – you have struck me and you have chosen your wound well –
– etc. – but
–
today i rode mom’s bike down to seabright beach after swimming with Paitra, after the chaos and fire of the 4th, last night – to meet David, lying in the sand – “looks like the fog’s coming in, though, you still gonna be down there?
/yeah, I’ll be with my Harry Potter til my nipples freeze
/alright then see you then” – I brought the Tombeau, but found I couldn’t read it then.
to everything turn turn turn…
Space/time.
his two eyes are watching me, they are enough – already taken by absence and the gulf –
bring everything to this?
David read to me from HP and the Half Blood Prince instead. I watched the currents of wind and fog rush in and over us from the south, til the sun diluted into mist and we crept up the beach to bikes and the Seabright Brewery.
This time: today, after, after, last, coming in, still, til, then, then, then, time, already, current, over, til, past tenses.
gearing, the bike’s climb into hills, legs near feet
near the pedals make pressure and pull, as if his eyes
are not two, but two is important, the need for stereo-scopics, glasses for telling relief, aerial photographs
taken by machines forced high by burning
wind is not a river and fog is far too lazy for dilution
I’m thinking about this post and your previous post and the notion of poetry and becoming. The idea resonates nicely with Craig’s choice of the Fluxus poem, which is essentially an interesting assignment that promises an experience. My reading of Neruda unlocked an existential encounter with time, functioning like a bit of code or an application that initiated a process in my head. These pieces seem to do something similar.