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Of
the signs by which it will be known that the searching person
is walking along the way of this morning after and the awakening
of sense (tell me now). by
Aaron Kerley
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Après
minuit après aube
The sunshine morning up the avenue to work
Over relics of the moons last teeming sins
Bleary saints with red eyes who recognize
behind the cheap sunglasses a fellow traveler
hungover and now this hazy
malaise of morning, burn to the afternoon of angst
and the return to the dusky salvation of 40’s and
cigar tips discarded like broken amulets against the night
protect us until the dawn, so that we may wake again
to sounds of birds and sirens, garbage trucks, people
wandering about much like I am yet perhaps not
so pensive, so fallen, so in love with the world
and the word which builds it and hated when the cracks
appear, on the sidewalk, like a line of sight below
appearances, to the earth and its generative
semantics which brings forth reality
Crossing over I walk into the sun, and think:
I know nothing and it shows
everytime I open my mouth
Yesterdays come in bunches and reveal
Nothing but our damage, a gross of fading
Moments covered in hazy regrets or saccharine
Nostalgia and ask what it means
my brain shudders I want to cry, ball, shout
Terrified by my own obviousness,
the starving heart pumping sweet melancholy
I open my eyes open my self to
the stroll towards death and some secret reward
In the bitter bitter clicks of the clock
Each click a second, every second an eternity every
eternity shuffling toward entropy…
What you mean, then?
Tell me now.
On my way to work
I decided
the eyes have it
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Je
ne sais quoi
I remember your eyes
seeing all directions at once and again and yet reveal nothing
of the vision
Eyes heavy with some deep meaning which you hide behind a smile
Ravenous and then
you show everything silently
A flip of the leg over the knee,
you know something you won’t cop to
Eyes that trace the black outlines of glasses
then gray outlines of the street
An arcane joke played on us all?
Purse your lips but you won’t speak
the evident punchline hidden in the world?
The sigh, a sublime incantation, truth turns to a riddle
An unseen face in dark night of the soul and everything
You see through the unseen eyes in that midnight
are uncanny brain waves which break on the bluffs of daylight
savings time and
wreck
the see-side village of the given side seen
Call it peripheral but really it’s everything sacred we
ignore
Walking straight ahead to the future and the rimshot of infinity
ring out, echoes, in space
Psalms of experience a palace of dreams golden blake light and
st. john of the cross
In the kaleidoscope the right eye the left eye the wrong eye
the mind’s eye aye aye
the eyes have it and see sidewise are not I’s but Yoor’s
in every direction
The alphabetical divinations of the holy see-saw truest prophesy
lost on the damned
who are too clever to be sincere and too sincere to be forthcoming
a thousand academic poets whose blinders
are the fetters of cold technical verse
A second coming? A second helping?
Oh oh what of that?
What of this?
In every direction
a new question.
A sly smile
Tell me now.
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Dites
moi vos secrets
The notebook, brought forth with hesitation a spellbook, the
word magic
made real, ethereal, lights that pirouette, then stomp, then
breaks
bread with eternity and then continues
is the music at another party-
the poetry of substance
the poetry of ghosts
the words which spin fantastic creation and webs up the others
worlds which are born and live in the moment
poetry of blood
poetry of mud
triangulations of poetry, heart mind and womb spilling
on to page and hearing the music of your fluid script
wash of words and time cover everything
Tides and tidings fluid essences and the essential
Waters are sacraments
A cleansing word spit upon the page
from the rain cloud of being
A kind word spoken in touch
that saves the day from turning to shit
A vicious word to draw blood, cause pain
the reminder that agony is all in the mind
A reverent word, a divine word, the word itself
which breathes life into everything
A magic word which rolls back boulders, opens doors, produces
rabbits doves scarves frogs milk from tophats and transforms
outside inside
A dirty word dripped or thrown into the wind or the parchement
of starched linen dreams
The wet tongue of poetry dripping come from its syllables
The sad songs and beautiful sufferings of poets
The left eye the right eye the mind’s eye the I and I
all in
conspiracy to release a sobbing truth into pillows
and whose water hastens epiphany
whose eyes see, whose bodies breathe, whose souls are given
to ecstasy by fucking the Universe
the only thing for the breathing pages
of inkblood prophesy
Something you can dance to.
Something to sing.
In the shower.
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maintenant
Tell me now
Before the clock strikes
Tell me now
While the eyes still have it
Tell me now
You.
Somewhere.
Whispering
Music.
The ear of god
Poised.
Dream.
Breathe.
Words.
into
Being
Forever.
Tell me now. |
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