Another silence (I had already askedfor the bill) and with a kind ofconfidence which I still like to think of: I have afeeling that with you [vous] it would bedifferent.
--Jacques Derrida
Turns taken in navigation
andthere's a kind of confession
In your street--let's move
to a less formalyou Qu'est-ce tu fais?
Looking for the ends of sentences.
Every time I rubbed my eyes
yousnapped a picture--
patented the expression.
The mouth an atrium filled with light,
the moon a gin-lemon--
mysteriously seagulls, north
p h i l a d e l p h i a
damp byzantium,
then:
a tuning fork,
a pressed-pink (your
fuchsia-face is back)
hearsay heresy eventually
all pronouns careen
too much fiction--construct
a vicarious narrative, a capacity for failure.
Humor distribution--the horns of a student orchestra f
(overheard) Filigree melodies-- sostenuto
in ordinary time:
A soundtrack for that winter.
The letter arrives after supper.
Curiously dichotomous-- gravity.
The letter, sealed, must
become amnesia. The seal
must be believed.
Ecliptic tragic axis.
The epic epistle--it forgets us
every instant. We notice that we
are writing
and imagine ourselves a correspondence not absurd.
Nothing is hand-maid and nothing
is placed in hope chests. Textual ludic.
Inlinen she says: my gown aches.
The letter a sounding line,
the word--lead. Core
d e s p o n d e n c e. Myarticulation
is static. The problem with a neverending
conversation about night is that
eventually light. On se tutoie?
A neutral you, rue infused
(grappa non grata)
Hypercrypyted
after supper.
what I meant to say Mythomania
The irritating greed sealed in an envelope
and the entire of a letter can only be
possible
not accomplished testing depths
so somehow through the mail we reach
a formality and a looseness thatimplies
words flying from us with a sort of heaven in their destination
even when done carefully--can only describe what's missing.
In heaps of yellow leaves there are plans
and the price of heroes--miracles
are nowhere but in the veins.
Aphasia, not what follows,
cypress eyelashes--sleep.
Because I am an egomaniac, I love a woman smoking in a poem.
He said (but I never wrote) "my gown aches"
She wants him to only stand
very still. Sublunary, thuschangeable,
a garment, or spectre--earthly or
spectacular. A stutteringhieroglyph.
The correspondence: absurd.
By which celestial conjecture shall we interpret?
The signature a body choking.
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