Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Woke to the words (and it is only ever words which wake me):

be prepared to be 
on your way
on that last day.

The same shone first (and if ever anything wakes me it is only light).
Shone first, shines within, and this same light will shine out at last.

The word wordless when these, wordless, have many sayings
yet little string to hold them.
So how is it, wordless and stringless, they have their world strung together?


Time is both directions in inconsistent. 
Any inconsistency makes time timeless. 
Timeless time is lost of its dimensions, the space runs without knocking edges off one another. 

We are one and we are another, without edges.

Paucity and the deceased. Beauty and the least. The boat pulls out, escaping the intricate device 

of the word worldless, of the heist, a sea stolen of its ground. The bottom dwellers struggle, finding not the bottom.

Saturday, 4 February 2017

Lifted fire
twisted around this fallen knowing
of forgetting a candle. 

Neither fire nor smouldering
just the gathering

in anticipation of together.

Another note of repose

enthusiasm prodded toward meeting in the future.


Life is life is
life all the way down.

For life not to be found, 
there can be no life

yet here is living seeking living,
here is life peering toward the possibility
of no life,

being therefore,
seeking, all the way down.

One wonders at how a combination of death
may produce the seeking life
who investigates its own vestigial absence.




Thursday, 19 January 2017

A cave sought 
is a story

a story bought begets a journey
to seek a cave

to gather each item
to tell the story thereof

the cave
and
the riches we once hid

in a story
in a cave.

Wednesday, 18 January 2017

The paradoxical catalyst
changes actively and
seeks change
yet never
moves.
Hold
this

the grandest
the most urgent to say

and this
the most unspeakable vastness.




Of this there comes
a soft persisting and particular ethic.

From hearing the story
it is recognised

we do indeed know the answer

indeed we know
of how the unity urged upon us

of how this is in accord 

and this which is of the creative
this is held.




Sunday, 15 January 2017



Your people contain incredible potential, but they die without using much of it. 
[Lilith's Brood; Octavia Butler. p.24]






The rooms of the narrator get written in.

Language blockades: what is the external situation of going to conflict?

In the midst of their social being
which is also a mist
they write up the quality and quanta of exile
and describe a rootlessness as the world.

The narrator dwells in this room.

Their story is in another

rood

or the beaten situation.

One listens through the wall and all is recounted propely,
thus: