Words have less to do
with ideas than actual things,
White, whiteness, and milk-whiteness
are three completely different distinctions,
and comprehension attributed to
connotation falls flat when you say
God.
His name, Empty,
not uttered, small White cot
upon which she rested, at last
—
gathp
—
good fortune, great life,
tangible reality
Destroyed honest(l)y.
Marks on page maneuver different directions
when meaning misrepresents reality.
Locke sent the message, Mill
tagged it, but oblivious you received it;
“Happiness, love, comfort. In no other
way would I have spent life than with you.”
How one can stumble at the Other’s
—
gathp
—
Crumble
A Milk White Whiteness washed over her,
whispered last words, tunneled vision.
The still sheet, face up, veiled eternally
the source of being loved vehemently,
he wept for new empty name.
