... is remembered
fondly and also with
incredible regret and
without whatever was
taken
forsaken lost
dismissed
and
or
forgotten
in other
words, most
of whatever it
might have been and
everything it meant even if
that wasn't anything
really
still, it
was perfect
as far as the
imagination could
manage and beyond
that, understand:
nothing unreal ever
ever
ends
... was dreamt in a
dozen thousand
words first then
set loose in
lives, words without
restraint sent unrepentant
and as consequences go how
these were unforseen is
beyond the scope of
apology, ironically
there are no words to
repair whatever those
words flayed wide
open or any of
many subsequent
losses
one of which
is
trust
and
words fail
me here but words
do not betray
people, people do,
and in the process
the damages go
beyond
and indeed the words
themselves were
damaged,
for what went
unwritten was
something else
entirely, and
that is all i
will say, i
have done
enough
already
... and i would add that
just knowing trusting
isn't anything by
itself and by
alone i mean only
knowing ones ownself
in relation to some thing
else which will
never be, maybe,
and this means
it is merely
a theory as
far as that
goes, and it does
go on about
the business of
spin and yes
indeed i was
spinning then
only just
spun into time
out of mind
out of time
and why? well
you see what it
isn't is
real, that's all,
aside from
that it is
intense it
is perfect it
makes sense well
from some perspective at
least, it must, though
this makes no
difference and so
mostly i just
know and i know that
i know and lately i
can hardly stand this
knowing
... and the air was still a
seduction but also somehow
soothing and out in it i sensed i'd find
balance of some sort, some odd
sort really since this
particular balance is defined by
desire, its edges all aglow and then
of course there is that
searing sunburst just like
the instant the
eclipse ends and so
i will wear my glasses
darkly and only focus on
other lightsources, these things i promise
myself, not expecting much knowing
what i know about my
willpower where astonishingly dangerous
brilliance is concerned, yes
i will stare myself blind on a
whimsical impulse and
as those go this is
so much more
than i imagined, this is
to impulsive whimsy as time is
to the time of this life,
mine, that is to say, this is
as the unimaginable is
to the insignificant, this is
as the sense this makes
fades into the fact that yes, i am
indeed propelled through this and
yes i do trust in its purpose and
its vision and yes this does guide me
in times of blindness, and no
i am not sure if this is
one of those times, or if
it is not.
