Thursday, January 1, 2015

Keeping your own narrative as a context for survival.

How do you hold
such a voice
to speak,
with whatever script,
for the you to grasp
beyond your reach;
reflecting within the various
stages of immensity.
Trying to resolve
upon the shifting
particulars of so much
that dwarfs the point
from which you reference,
and deconstructs
into ever smaller
meanings, massing
machinations falling
into everything.

Talking back
to keep defining
moments staged appropriately
so you can
characterize a sense
of who remains
to do the talking.

Where do you start
after a stopping, and
where do you stop
after a starting?

Or the company
of fellow facters
that keep the play
of words
toying with each other.
Fiddling around
with such instruments
of pain and joy,
conjugation and

And for guidance
you dream
of the perfect carrier
wave to ride
through the curves
of spirit
to see that faith
is the father
and the mother
of this process.
And you are the son
of a twitch or
the daughter
of a dis-dress,
impossibly conceived,
for you've always been
a thought of a voice and
the voice of a thought;
the handle making
the handler.

There is only to keep
on with the talking,
to walk the talk,
and make the taking;
along with the listening,
to follow the feeling
for the right tone
to stay in tune
with all that we make
and break and
fall apart from
to be together.

This embrace
is elementary and

absolutely necessary.

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