"As meteors pierce the sky's tin vault,
so molecules sail through the many
pores of my own enclosure, what trash what
treasure, piss and brilliance, a fleet of
snippets shed from the vast exterior's
chaos haystack, flop and fodder, there
is no NO, not here, not yet. I have been
forever, I am not yet born. Into the one
tremendous whistling laze of this, my
pulsed amalgam, I admit the all, a just lie
back and snap! arrangement, confetti
hoof and concertina, what blind mouth's
breath what pleasant nesting. I am
a composition, the one life's work I have
been forever, the loom and the wool and the mat
for dreaming. The song that's tensed
in past as happened "just like that" is
too much once, and lying back to bask in basking's
tongues of flash, I can't believe it.
One's quarantine's a peace pinched-in
with heavenly visits. A heavenly visit
has no close. Take the most exquisite
moment in the gallop, where all four
hooves now tread the air, and stretch it
taut indefinitely, shot through as it is
with hops and dung and does and loves,
and you have an inkling. An inkling sparks
half the congregation when you rub it right,
half the congregation when you rub it wrong.
I am song forever. I will not have sung."
From "Twenty-seven Props for a Production of Eine Lebenszeit"... a book I recommend you go buy and read:
www.amazon.com/Twenty-Seven-Pr…