Throat gone for...

would word,

word forsaken?

Ascribed to no language...

interstices

in a Void...

hallowed they be.

Light/Dark

cast unto them...

by them.

Surreptitious incantations

occasion Being pause...

throat gone for...

bled...

would word, word

such a

silence?

A nimbus spreads
toward the rim of
a puddle...
legs hopping its
saintly sun,
down-to-earthly.

This you say, without
saying, is my frame--
racked by what is
not brought forth.
Triptych of self...reserved by
the momentum of evasion.
Not to outstride holy company.
Compounding the brilliance
of what was stole away from.
As if a face for every
face, that could not bear
its image.
Driven to outposts which
are eyes more naked than
love at war.
So much of self at judgement,
none the more self to judge
having seen.

Being made to remember,
held to signature upswells
in the depths of unmeaning.
How near, in truer
sense--beyond madness to
minister logic to an uncut
event, yet cut.
Pieced together in hope
of netting mortality, harboring
the breath of life as if a
resentment.
Willing what will not, being
made to remember--being
made to forget.
As soon drawn, as erased...
the fronting forefront.
Whose change has its own memory,
so perfect it's changeless.
Beingness cut front to back,
back to front...side to side,
top to bottom, bottom to top.
Uterine cave torch lighting
isolated events bound for
seas of sequence.
Mind's eyefuls of the whole in a
simultaneity of remembrance,
and forgetfulness.

The ache of a bough,
bent brown furrows
of ellipsoid swirls--
coarsely carved disentanglement.
Rootedness pining after
uprootedness.
As a wind conversely
passes a bough for
proof of existence...
pining after rootedness.
Ache in tandem,
sounding.