Thursday, 10 April 2014

95. Some Verbal Events Within These Borderlands

A: This isn’t where we were
only someplace crowded in
w/ casual talk & life support machines.
It’s a space opened out of emptiness.
We must hold together in its rawness
tell eachother stories. No one else
can hear them.

Z: Everyone you know
is lost somewhere.

A: Well, OK of course, what do
you expect then? Still
searching explanation & origins
in silence, in shredded paper
long-derelict internet sites in
capable of being parsed? Nothing
here but murmuring of riots and burning
in the next valley.

Z: I can taste
the silence here
& its memory
the act of that
like an injunction
a sudden nerve-poison
stripping out appearance
all that shiny film
nothing doing here.

A: Let it lie. Don’t expect.
Play, labour, resist then nurture.
No more lies than any other.
How can this be explained?
This wound in the language
is the borderlands – a part
of somewhere else apart; these tics
grimacing into our full utterance
always to let histories
cut up as those of Macedonia
verbal events ripping along the surface of the seen
always in another valley here.

Z: Isn’t this beyond
this too the rage
of a child put down
too soon to sleep?

A: Time though still for one
last meal together here.
I just don’t know though
in what valley now & next.

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