second continent
The in-between of an unclosable difference.
a Human, collected
the thought of the sun
after light
unfaithfully
not setting alike
holding on
temperate sail
through the nautical night
candle tall
to the darkness of absence
up
whether or not
the lunar cast in between
should once more
unfast its grip
on today,
for tomorrow,
the frozen shape,
the unmoored sky...
this Thought –
fateful
a Human, collected
Split a mountain in two
Down the middle
And no tunnels to reach through the average inclination
You have the shape
Of a human being
That's the only difference keeping
a mountain a mountain
and this human something else:
One peak to two
each a third in all
the Up and down
side at a time
and The road between
shadow of a lost abridgement.
a Human, collected
[Zero]
A clock ticks.
I fall apart.
a mess is made.
in the aftertock,
I try to put myself back together.
Clockwork
[One]
short of second-hand instruction,
keeping timely, time-keeping
I rewind,
from memory
think back to the beginning
identify the old motives
retrace the reason of my route
a Human, collected
1
I, who have lost, con-decorated in the treatment of significance by someone else, take it out with me to more than what I have followed. Belief, I have lived days at a time for something that forgave me sense, put in me the prematurity of de-serving, not someone, but only all of it again. Finished life! target me this rainbow for beyond the shade of the tree father of mine hath other graver uses, other shadows of name, and that and those of so many others cannot spoil me in renewal and beautiful things, only rush my beauty in its pre-dated significance. I, of made-self de-service, should deserve again.
2
My vision of the final lack is a lack of the consequential and so I require all force. Force this cause, repeat my unfinished Mother in sights of an unstarted Mother in the endless childhood of an unexamined life-end. What do I want? I can have had. One to one again: stream of self-sorting numbers. And that, with that, in the collection rooms of a wasted memory before a wasting body. Lift me! to unbroken sense of only just enough emptiness; I may empty and all born of this be the new landscape of a seeding without the significance of the life already ignored.
3 & 4
Together we are strong, together we have the power of a complete economy: the second half of the unified sign we make. The world outside speaks to us: shapes of us colourful of all the colour in the walls of the project external: calms us, aspires to us, fundamentally who we are: widescreen production of meaning before and after our lives together. The better defined the pixelation, the more defined and together forever are we going to be. A real picture: improved in every revision of the synthesiser. Together, we have each other: in the brand-new name of the power of next-day Home-delivered significance.
a Human, collected
We go to ground first like more water,
but then the rain
washes the ocean out of us;
dried, there's sand.
Whistle of the wind comes calling,
lifts this young beach
body cut a sunbathed dance,
we ape, that's movement.
Finally, loose ballet falls stung
to a desert of what almost was;
the forest in time will grow
through a dead grip.
a Human, collected
people go into the People like forests
Family roots hold trees and branch off like so
Above the ground, some touch and entangle, a roof
Halving the light to the entanglement below:
a life-death mess of broken Falls, uncut Springs
Floating off the soil in a river of souls
A thick seaweed trough of recycled everything,
Doubles the people between memory and movement.
people as the People take to the ground like forests
roots first spread then threaded and hugging unison
Affixing there a half-lit dome of a half-left space,
Entrance, comes the person gone looking for themselves.
a Human, collected
only had failing rule-breaking left
to boast the full collection
Fail to do one
Fail to do two
Fail to fail three
failed to follow the example
Then failed to learn from failure
And third failing to make some point out of failing
I could have been perfect
could have learnt how to be perfect
Or thirdway taught a new perfection altogether
But boast of big triangle instead
Collection without disagreement
Headed squarely for fourth following
A total shape
Although, uncontrasted, like a starless orbit
a Human, collected
If the general movement of time does disjunction, the human Moment could only be disjunctive of that
Humans would put together
Time, which does not oppose this in principle, takes apart in fact
That is not to say that the temporal cannot run through the Human
Nor that humans do not work along with time
Of course, there are and they do
But the human moment, in time, could only go anti-clockwise
Give time more work to be done
And this way extend time
More disjunction yet;
The human moment, in time, would be clock-work
Give work more time to be done
And so extract time
More conjunction yet;
And the human moment, in time, would complement time
Exact time under a binding vision
And thus construct time
All Time yet;
But for a time that a moment could never capture
These would only be more things for it to disjoin
a Human, collected
Sometimes, on the day that makes the day,
An hour that cares not to explain itself, a
Wave with nowhere to encounter, rises
To the shore, to lean over as if to turn an
Island up-side-down, world under world.
On the day that is that day, a flood that
Does not look like a flood, convenes around
A space it raises to an insular mound,
Resetting the limits above and below the
Water, taking it up from the ground.
Where a day could be, but is not, before and
After a day, it is sometimes the time of the days,
The ocean that floats a peninsula, unfinished,
A fresh emergence whetting the whole
To the self-surprise of its own size.
a Human, collected
I fell a-sleep and out of the world
I fell into a dream before a dream
And woke up half-way there
I woke up before the light
I woke up in the day-to-day
as the moon comes up for play;
All seemed just so but hollow in name
yet to bet on itself this way or that,
Myself included, awoken in time for change
I started to dream in this dream
skirting blue deserts chasing loose shapes
stewing through an autumn of pixelation
strung out too, awoken in time for time
present but not unpaused
In a darkness not unbrilliant:
a Human, collected
Today, I have no need for witnesses
I needn’t the searchlight of expectation
nor to perfect my reply
and least of all to hear the rest of it.
Today, it is I, alone, in some body
all together in its animation
certain of whatever it might do
here wherever it happens to be.
Today, you can't put me to the question
can't pull me out of me to you
nor grasp me nor guilt me
and won’t find me with-out me.
Today, they have to live it alone
to care for all the faces
and reply to their perfection
and ask me another time.
a Human, collected
-------- NEEDS AN ANNEX ABOUT ARTIFICIAL LIGHT -------
Decorative layer
of the movement of existence
absent –
blanket of light and its shady effects –
attribution to what's left un-covered instead –
Night –
a cold, irreducible,
but mainly ideal,
beauty.
Turning of the day of the day nocturnal,
totality buried to a softly stilling tone,
a reality of negations oftentimes misconceived in both origin and purpose,
fullness of a vision of a world that cannot be fully seen
coming on.
Forward all the disappearance that daylight leaves unseen;
a Human, collected
Years 1 and 2 (09-10)
Things come by the earliest feeling
Lived at the first sight of love, left
Before the sunset of a full day, saved in a half-
Light fed of their own Truth.
Year 3 and 4 (11-12)
The evidence behind a dream interprets its daily limit.
There goes a night and day difference in a proper habit.
Daylight needs to uncover the name behind the dream
An eye aroused by the bigger dream of the Name.
Year 5 and 6 (13-14)
We begin, as always begun, from non-end
The end is not what makes the beginning
But its absence since the beginning and also before that.
The end is everything being unready – and this is what we Touch.
Years 7 and 8 (15-16)
The earth laid back over the buried lowered to the depth of their eternal rest does not repeat the surface up to the even footing of the previous formulation. The grave is its own country; there are no crossings.
a Human, collected
We stood in the corridor speaking of dreams still had
Semi-closed to the doors before that opened otherwise;
Whether or not it could be started again, the lights were half-lit so half-bright,
We stood in it giving it a distance for the time not yet done.
We laughed because we knew and, again, did not
Easier to knock on that way, especially funny because it wasn't at all
now we might know how much we did not know
Reminiscent, how wrong it had been, how right we could still become.
Stood there unhappy, tired but tipped with half-impressions of a greater unknown
Two unfinished dream states correlated in a post-bedtime corridor
so close to being amused, but louder than the mere comedy of it
Standing there, putting all suspicion of being fully awake behind us.
a Human, collected
There are 10 people more than before
Other others with the endless years born between them
Ten more than ever and the X life into that
Another to an other, decades at every X years
person I speak to is older than the last time I wanted to speak
10 dates of dating the last ten times I said anything at all
And if anyone speaks to me, there are 9 people I cannot know at any one time
And they speak to me all the time
They X-emplify everything I do not know
and X-amplify all the things I do
at least ten ways to hear every fact whether or not counting listening as just one fact in itself
I am spoken to ten years at a time
And find a century in the mix of two decades spilling over each other in the same breath
a Human, collected
Where the tree
bends to ground
before freed
leaves at autumn,
and the brows
between waters
gape and desiccate
the drawn borders,
the known fates
will too drown,
the year’s fruit
spoil, aborted,
the soil turn,
death unburied,
and light dawn
no safe mooring.
a Human, collected
To make matters worse
This one is worse
I do not matter
I have not done anything
And I want love
They do not want me
I had been told this before
But hope teaches you to forget
I went on
It goes on
And now it is back
There is no hope
No forgetting
No love
a Human, collected
There is a migratory quality to all my qualities,
They jump north to south back and forth in and out of a seasonal
of their own hemi-spheric making
They transit hot and cold in analogous differences
Pulling sword at the temperature fronts proportionally
Dragging me either side of a dislocated equator.
There is a temporary quality to all my qualities
They time-difference east to west either side of a diurnal
of their own mean-time making
They transfer night and day in analogous differences
Pulling cord on the contrast curtains accordingly
Throwing me either side of a timeless meridian.
These qualities of my quality tell me
What time of the year I am in
What time of the day it is
In a worldplace of their own staking;
a Human, collected
As the water waved
Where the sea-level is love
And responses should be in kind
I could not sail my goodbye.
Instead,
Undecided, but never not moved
found myself splicing through shadows
away
from a shared starlight
Unannounced,
but never not leftover
Which is to say…
There,
My now-time absence
will
only
eventually
flow obvious.
a Human, collected
Sadness could be the break
I take as
the unknown
smiles at me:
averting my gaze
because
it unsettles
because
of the things I know
there's myself, too well:
and at the centre of this knowledge
and because of the central plane it assumes
there's this, well known:
cheek-raising plans no territory.
A smile is a simple lie
not only stares sides of an unknown
but at the sight of it