A prose poem
layers of tunnels - long horizontal, partial and interrupted, entwined and overlapping conceptually speaking. embedded in bedding, wedded in webbing. the faith in love of this traversable earth of maze beckons visions - tempts hopefuls to rush - makes visions. somewhere in the bounce, stasis and spin it came to me in the water, the wooden cup, the wooden water and the furniture, the would. this is what would.
the tunnels' sheer soil wall surged and squeezed with frost's delicate light. here a street scene, there a scene blown up to city scale. a city name and so coordinates. only the night, the night as a story we live in. the day fools us that somehow we reach landfall on the return of augenblick. but we must be able to speak to each other for we've not yet agreed to drink from the same sink and wells.
here I arrive at port with papers. a long pier and my luggage wheels roll quietly on the boards. there is now the opening of passageways upon passageways without the act of will from me.
the tunnels' sheer soil wall surged and squeezed with frost's delicate light. here a street scene, there a scene blown up to city scale. a city name and so coordinates. only the night, the night as a story we live in. the day fools us that somehow we reach landfall on the return of augenblick. but we must be able to speak to each other for we've not yet agreed to drink from the same sink and wells.
here I arrive at port with papers. a long pier and my luggage wheels roll quietly on the boards. there is now the opening of passageways upon passageways without the act of will from me.
