this concludes

evening sunlight filtered
through misplaced pines,
windows, blinds,
singular, my own &
only barely.

it went.
like this:

invented this
starlit eyesight.
witnessed this
pale perfection
this vision,
brilliant (at
least until
the day
light hit it)

fail daily

& i wither with them

hoping against hope this
is the last of it, that i am

that it is finished with
me & that this is

though this matters less than
the knowing slowly overtaking me
in this office this evening this
late in this life this loss this

all this tends to
lead one to

(one breath)


-(me) 07-01-03

i can’t tell you how many years it’s been. wait yes i can – two? three for anything significant though. and by three i mean three and a half.

so i wrote this today. at work. at my desk. in a notebook. in purple ink. in thirty-something minutes while waiting for a meeting to begin. polished it up a bit since then but it’s still only hours old. i am therefore extremely nervous since i often revise for decades before releasing things.

but what the heck.

11 thoughts on “this concludes

  1. number of minor revisions since first clicking publish. 10? line breaks. periods. the order of the small words. they could go so many ways.

    nervous as a virgin with intimate odor issues and some tattoos to explain.

  2. I see no reason to be nervous. Beauty, emotion, life exposed. None of those things have been done a disservice here. Very beautiful, though painful.

  3. so you’re absolutely sure it doesn’t suck, that it’s not in fact actively sucking the chrome off’n any trailer hitches, not even one?

  4. I’m seriously thinking of coming down that way and spanking you…

    “…less bad”! Sheesh…

    Your formula intrigues me!

  5. i may not know much about programming but i do know something about poetry. by god yes i do. at least as much as queen elizabeth knew about being a woman in a man’s job. so, what i am trying to say is: this reads like a finished piece. it reads like something that should see the light of day. it reads like something that, dare i say it, deserves to be published.

    when was the last time you submitted anything? if you need a cheerleader, i’m your huckleberry.

    for want of anything better i have my own vanity press chapbook publishing imprint, if you want to keep your work under, say, 100 copies. you would be, not counting myself, poet #2 on my roster.

  6. if we consider the part where i lost the already partially mixed metaphor to be a metaphor for what it meant to say initially, which did involve the loss of an image or rather something imaginary, well, then it might … be okay.

    there’s always something logical, almost mathematical involved. given (beginning) prove (ending) given (the nonsense in between). if i can’t find some theoretical cohesion, i fuss with it till i do, and if that’s forced, i might screw with it … there is no time limit. i have stuff i’ve been working on for twenty someodd years already.

  7. i don’t even like poetry. can’t concentrate long enough to get through it and understand it, you know? but this i like. yes, you should publish. definitely. i would buy a book of your poetry–and read it.

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