Audio: Read by the author.
Listen. We are crowds now. We gather in the eardrum of.
The scaffolding grows.
As if the solution.
There is not a soft part of us.
Except for the days in us.
We let the pieces fall where they may.
The visible in its shell gets smashed.
The desperation re
the gorgeous raw material—earth—the sensation of
last night, storms spilled, plumed, odor of
looking for the various directions.
I have seen
nothing. It is deafening. It shakes with laughter
with ways of looking. It rattles. Listen. How much is it now
the thing I want?
The soft wind is it recompense?
But I was trying to tell you about us now.
How we finally realized we made no difference.
And the visible we love. Its notes its intervals.
Over which the sunlight still proceeds shivering with precision.
With the obligation of precision.
The visible whose carapace we love.
And how our love is that we are seen.
All the way into
the mind are seen.
The earth with its fingers in our mouth nose ears.
The visible with its ghosts its smooth utmosts.
And weight and limit—how they heave
up—pray for us we are destroyers—
pray we fail—the mind must fail—
but still for now a while longer let me
who am part of it & must fail & the pieces
which must not fall where they may,
they must not, as all is hearing this
from the deep future, deep origin . . . Cry.
Cry mind sick with the delight of getting it always only right.
Cry fingering the earth every crevice.
Cry all the trees like a problem you
can solve.
How could you not have maintained steady state.
It is lean this unfolding of
your days over this earth. Listen, a flap
where a gate shuts, where the next step is
coldly placed without hope—& crackles
rising where your footfall goes—oh
I am huge—I would
take back names give up the
weight of being give up place
delete there delete possess, go,
love, notice, shape, drift, to be in minutes once again, in just one hour
again. Look
my small hand comes out of my pocket
asking to touch one more time. Without
taking. To touch. To not take away
any sensation any memory. To come to
the feeling-about at the edge of the object
and stay. Release focus. Release shape.
If we
back off release blind ourselves thumb away hope . . .
But I am huge.
