Old scraps-Encountered

And if you are not there
the world will bend its head once more
pensively. So I will your absence
the way I will my way to worship.
Unwilling to plunge alone, we seek compatriots in sin, to mitigate the crime, mediate this ‘sin.’
This life, throbbing exuberant into days
past people, past joy
contained, reminiscent–an existence in one-sided agony, unresolved, and forsaken for a desire unrepentant and unwise.
splinters in darkness
rewings in sightless cry
and impales fuzzy-eyed death
open –‘o’
A stopped moment in time, inheritor and progenitor, circling, wrestling, I am the ringed word. At this moment, all this…is All.
Foggy center of candle, planet lit by the mind, life is a Conradian narrative–how much was real, how much dreamt, decided upon? How much perceived, imagined, sutured? And if we are not sure, perhaps we are rich.
What a lot of others’ nuances we have to learn in order to catch their cryptic meanings, to understand the painter’s simple sign, displayed in so much paint and form, needing less than half a line of wordlessness.
And yet the beauty of the dance!
Silence, like togetherness, is a complicity.
Soul-starvation is to die in the shadow of plenty.
A wound so vast and wide that i’m weary searching for its shores. where had i come that love meant loss to me?
Strange, that half  a life can hide what is truly a man, that man in natural thought can be as divided as distributaries, and memory as rubble.
change shape in darkness.

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