This figured light only
is an opener to that scene, in which it all crowds
in at slattered points of flank and form,
shifting lines of view. Powdered caprice
Faced before, it would not be good,
to assume those, assume anything.
Of you and me.
I see what you’re doing here, creating
that matter you always hearken to,
Want to point out or
Art. In a word,
How can these limpid
shards of lexis
Fit? Dense lengths of dust
trace the floor, flit up
surround at our greeting held
muffled in the
slack littorals of
Postures, known postures, of language.
Repeat after me and you’ll see it through right
Create in terms known by you and others
in an attempt to knot the globing
gap between word and thing.
Art gorges on its own tail,
constricted by what is [re]presented
and what is perceived.
[[The idea of the object]]
[[[The idea of the object of the idea]]]
And on, surely? Meaning congeals on the freighted lips
Spittle fettered through,
To plead, to paint
In imminence there is immanence
A close one
So it lolls open slack-jawed to all