Friday, 17 July 2015

There is no name for the genre
apart from an appropriate realism.



There is no name for the genre
apart from the genus of expectation.

There is no name for the genre
other than the gendering of an act.

There is no name outside
of a contract of expectation.

The nameless
have no expectations.



This denuded genre, awaiting its act,
seeks for the generation of identity.

There is no appropriate realism unless 
it seeks the apparition of its own reality.

There is no appearing 
sought without compact.


There is not fixed contract
outside the prism of conspiracy.
The glass of imagination,
alloyed in a furnace of telling.

There is no name for this genre,
the feral flame of telling.

These reflections chased across spectra,
disproportionate means for an appropriate end.

There is no name for the end
other than this contact 
which spills identity
across expectation.




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