“..truth is often nothing more than meaning”
—Trinh T. Minh-ha
I mean–
what can I say,
you know?
I’m just talking,
to myself.
You know
what I mean?
I imagine you
do, since
I hear what
you’re saying–
You understand
what I mean?
(November 13, 2018)
Cant
“Knowledge of the name gives him who knows it mastery even over the being and will of the god.”
–Ernst Cassirer
The mythos surrounding
Can’t in positivity
Can’t hide the truth
That can’t can
Always be said,
And can occur
Even when said
Can’t can’t.
Ultimately changing
A word can’t change
the word. Limits
Exist that can’t be
Broken, even when
We say they can’t.
(November 12, 2018)
Too Many Conversations to Slough Off
After the teacher conference
spent listening to others
speak of techniques
to hold their students
locked around an idea
of reading and writing
with little actual reading
or writing of consequence,
I am reminded of a Greek
statue of a wrestler,
who stands silent
scraping sweat and
filth from his arm,
his day done.
(November 11, 2018)
Sedation
“How have you made division of yourself?”
–William Shakespeare, 12th Night
In order to feel,
I parse the world.
Behind prescription’s
Veiled violence,
I choke out
A staccato song
Into the resonance
Of the reflected world:
I am you— but
I am not you,
no more than the air
Is our breath
Fogging briefly
The silvered glass.
(November 6, 2018)
Source
Often while reading,
I scan the words,
turn the pages,
and then the book
vanishes, and I vanish,
aware of nothing.
To hold nothing,
and have nothing hold,
I desire this freedom–
a breath unnoticed,
as it is
ubiquitous:
Radiant, without center,
I cannot name
my discontent.
A wind, at my ear,
stills as I turn;
yet, still’s nearby.
(November 4, 2018)
Dream Journal #33: Binary
He could not sleep
In the dream,
So he wandered,
Without moving
Room to room,
Worrying details,
While obliquely
Hiding
His traces.
Until like a flower’s
Augury For love’s
True answer, he strips
Off the flavors
Of the dying night,
And stands barren,
Without possibility
Within the omnipresent
Never-ending day.
(November 1, 2018)
Leaf Fall
Somewhere, not here
A field lies open,
Unframed, without
Mind, as if lost,
Waiting on ritual.
In Increments,
I have changed.
Each day dawns
Into itself;
There is no other.
Hear, and here
As well, I
Still seek
Her across
These echoes:
She followed
A fragile winter
Ice across a lake.
I am cold; the wood
Grown dark.
(October 30, 2018)
