Archive for September, 2005

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two dreams

September 21, 2005

Two dreams. She lived in her own head, in a world a dream for years. She knew him. His heart met his. She felt a dream a world of dreams and fought to hold onto the dream the world.

He has no words or he has them but won’t share them. It hurt her, deeply. It hurt her heart when she woke. She woke up from the dream into a reality, her reality, her life full and awake and heavy from dreaming so long.

She finished her book of dreams and awoke.

Her body did her body does. She loved and she loves and she loves him. She breathes and holds her heart holds her middle. The dream a reality. She knows reality and she loves it. She woke to realize.

It hurts her this bittersweet reality, so close to realizing. So close to a palpable love, to what she dreamed would become reality to what is reality, what is real. She lives in her own body, in a world a reality for years. She knows him and is full of knowing. Her heart seeks his. He left. She feels a reality a world of reality and seeks desperately to hold the reality the world.

He has words and words and will he share them. They hurt deeply, fully. He seeks reality when he wakes. He wakes from reality into reality, his reality, his life full and awake and heavy from sleeping so long.

He finishes his play at reality and wakes.

His body did his body lives. He lives and he lives and he lives himself. He breathes and holds his heart holds his own. The reality a life. He knows life and he lives it. He wakes to realize.

It hurts them this bittersweet reality, so close to realizing. What wonder is love, to love what they dreamed they might love to sleep in love to awake fully to possibility. They live in their own bodies, in worlds in realities for years. They know them and are full of knowing. Their hearts seek themselves. They leave the dream, the past. They feel a reality a world of reality and seek desperately to breathe into one another the reality of their own worlds.

They have words and words and will they share them.

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thinking through writing

September 7, 2005

Language is not static. It moves, lives, breathes, changes with each tongue that employs it and each hand that conjures it. With the creation of new words, phrases, and inventive use of grammar and syntax, a language shifts with its speakers, its cultures.

A poet shifts with language, sifts through its offerings, learns its nuances and pushes its familiar boundaries into unknown territory. A poet constantly seeks discovery through language’s tools: letters, phonemes, morphemes, words, phrases, grammar, syntax, punctuation.

An editor offers a writer what she knows of language as a reader. An editor is not a static machine. An editor adopts modes to approach language but, knowing the ever-shifting quality of language, prepares herself to also re-learn the language with which she’s engaged.

An editor may be slow to change or slow to comprehend change. While language is a shape-shifter, it is slow to morph. Working with a slow medium, the editor is slow to recognize change, and slower to comprehend, even slower to respond. An editor realizes language exists in more than letters, phonemes, morphemes, words, phrases, grammar, syntax, and punctuation. Language is also gesture, behaviour, unspoken, offered and unoffered.

What does she know of his language?

He woke early again. He had not slept in a month. He said, “You’re not listening to me.” The editor hears this but does not comprehend; she has sought language in words and grammar; she has not considered the strength of his gesture, his behaviour.

The editor again re-learns to read.

The poet no longer recognizes language.

She feels displaced.

They.

“When one becomes two.” — A Thousand Plateaus, Deleuze & Guattari

For a human, there is no true silence; there are always two if alive.

He woke again. The editor woke, sobbing. It was this, voiced. There is pain in these hearts, but to feel again is real. “Have I lost language?” the poet asks. “Have I lost myself?”

He does not reply and he replies with, “You’re not listening.”

What is time? What time is it?

The poet heard the small orgasm on the breath. The poet listens to her, breathing. The poet listens to her own breath. She considers what voice is, how to voice. She breathes in something positive, lovely, love. She gulps in love. She exhales.

The poet recalls her own desperate voice that did not understand. The poet breathes more and does not voice. The poet reconsiders her tools.

What is voice on the breath in air? What voice is it, in or out? The poet holds her breath, turns blue from holding, lets her breath escape into the air surrounding her.

The poet smokes to remind herself she breathes.

The poet sings to remind herself of the emotive voice, the primal, the croon, the cry.

The poet breathes some more.

Who sings?

He woke early, alone. The poet imagines him with breath and choice. The poet breathes and her heart is surrounded by breath and air. The air is full of air, of longing and feeling and fullness. The poet exhales and considers her next open vowel.

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do i read me?

September 2, 2005

do i have choice in whom i love, in how i love? have i fallen into habit? do i know what love is? do i want to know what love is? am i settling? do i want love? do i want to love? do i do what i want to do? what do i want to do? do i want what i do? is this a pattern? is there a pattern? is a pattern a choice or a habit? do i choose my habits? have i fallen in love? how do i know i’ve fallen in love? do i want to fall in love? do i settle into habit? is love habit? am i in love? am i in love with choice or habit? is there a pattern to love? is pattern a habit?

do i have habit in whom i choose, in how i choose? have i settled into love? do i know what choice is? do i want to know what choice is? am i fallen? do i want habit? do i want to habit? is a pattern a habit or a love? do i choose my love? have i settled in choice? how do i know i’ve settled in choice? do i want to settle in choice? do i fall into love? is choice love? am i in habit? am i in
habit with love or choice? is there a pattern to choice? is pattern a choice?

do i rabbit in whom i goose, in how i goose? have i beavered into dove? do i know what geese are? do i want to know what geese are? am i swan? do i want rabbit? do i want to rabbit? is a tern a rabbit or a dove? do i goose my dove? have i beavered in geese? how do i know i’ve beavered in geese? do i want to beaver in geese? do i swan into dove? are geese doves? am i in rabbit? am i in
rabbit with doves or geese? is there a tern to geese? are tern geese?

no i ramble in where i room, in how i room. have i remembered into roving? no i know what real is. no i want to know what real is. am i running? no i want rambling. no i want to ramble. is a re-run a ramble or a roving? no i ruse my roving. have i remembered in real? no i know i’ve remembered in real. no i want to remember in real. no i run into roving. is real roving? am i in rambling? am i in rambling with roving or real? is there a re-run to real? are re-runs real?

no good can come of fish.

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