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_____Loud sheets
of winter colliding in a dark bedroom. Invisibly. Waves: a perpetual
succession of events perceptible by repercussions which make themselves
understood in
lavender and orange, which approach the visible in lavender and
orange refracted from clarity.
Still life broken down to steady incremental motion. Movement, movement:
every object
moving endlessly forward to stillness, within stillness. Is it time
I'm seeing? Every object
arching, flowing within its stillness. One a.m., the fog has settled
in, is complete. Do I get
the heart attack I deserve? I yawn again while fiercely awake. I'm
torn by passions yet
perfectly intact.
from RUINED FOR LIFE!
Aah
the lonesome curve and all of us who, late night, slide down it.
"How's my ex-wife?"
"I see her when I pass the bar," and so-and-so and so-and-so,
so on and so forth, here in
the awful hollow arena of present tense, the phone put down and
the ear still ringing from
another trans-American conversation. It's night all over: frozen
clouds are stamped with wires
and rooftops and steeples and chimneypots, vibrating in and out
of meaning so fast it
creates a different light inbetween. All is lost and all is gained
and lost and gained in so fast
a strobe a sodden bright limbo is created of cloudlight, which is
our eternal backdrop at this
hour. Something cries for the excised moments while something sighs
content with what
there is, and neither outdoes the other but both comprise the systole
and diastole——the
vibration of the present tense.
from RUINED FOR LIFE!
All
bright dusks
almost midnight, again the variations on pachelbel skirting,
trembling, sifting down but never
settling...like fog...like a heart kept open...a question whose
only answer is no answer...and
that’s the answer forever...until you betray the question
by answering it otherwise...
how do i always find myself still in my jacket like this?
do clouds mean anything? no, i know they don't. but i’ve chosen
that they should, i've
decided they do.
and so they do.
be careful what you wish for if what you wish is never to sleep
again.
dirty tape, our picture on the door, your face close to mine.
all bright dusks mean something, they are the only moments that
last.
June 7 & 28, 2002
-Michael
DeCapite
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