Overpainted, stained,
Smudged, smeared,
Scratched, half-erased pentimenti.
Your voices
Shadow mine.
Streak of color.
Cadence of speech.
Borders aren’t
Always apparent.
Borders aren’t
Always available
Or mappable, documentable.
There’s something
About networks.
There’s something in
My overlapping senses
Of things.
I didn’t want
To comment (or
Commit) but
Couldn’t help myself.
The noise
In me
Is undimmed.
You say
You want
For nothing.
This you,
This I
Are most
Peculiar constructions.
Talking to
Oneself in
Speaking to another
Is a kind
Of reverse ventriloquism.
The dummy lives.
How much
Can one
Listen to, embrace,
at once?
How attentive
Can one be?
Is this
A test
Of worth?
I am
Not beautiful.
I am
Not you.
these lines esp:
ReplyDeleteTalking to
Oneself in
Speaking to another
Is a kind
Of reverse ventriloquism.
The dummy lives.
but what I wonder is, reading your blog, why aren't there more comments & how does it feel to you when a poem such as this is met with silence?
rappel,
ReplyDeleteIt is discouraging. And it is how things are.
i say
ReplyDeleteTHIS IS BEAUTIFUL!
by which i mean the poem, the blog and the poet.
Tom, let us be unmasked & unassuming, let us work till dawn in the sweet dark tenets of our mystery, let us be unencumbered by the sad tailor & his measurements, let his suit forever be unfitting of us, let us sing whether in earshot or in woodrot, let our chests swell with the swirling word, let the tumblers of our libraries overflow until, dizzy with calligraphies, we have no choice but to throw up the fruits of our laboured alphabet on the steps of the town hall.
ReplyDeleteLet our arrest go unreported by a diverted media.
Tom, what I am trying to say, is:
FUCK'EM. YOUR ANOINTMENT WAS NOT & SHALL NEVER BE RATIFIED WITHIN THE TRANSIENT HALL OF A COMMENTS BOX. YOU/WE ARE POETS. WE LUCKED OUT!
Take care & be good to you
Best wishes
Miggy