23
Nov
10

In Formal Response


           Have I your leave to speak my mind? I do?
           If not, I won't.  You simply need say no
           and I'll go back to my room, so nothing
           need upset the order of the way one sees
           outside the chaos making up one's mind
           to know the will enough. I'm certain they're
           still watching us.  Still nervous over what
           the will might do.  Still wary what it wants
           with us.  Have I your leave to venture one
           word? At your leisure? To voice confusion, to
           give other gods their chance to play god with.

           No sooner said than taken back forthwith,
           no better said than given back its due,
           no faster said than risen back into
           itself. Into the dark that shadows no
           intrusion.  Far into the dark where one
           feels nothing, hears nothing, knows nothing
           but the void.  I've been there more than once.
           I've got a timeshare place there. No one sees
           its limits for me.  No one touches what
           collapses for me there. Try. I don't mind
           you trying, but you'll never reach me there.

           Besides, you've got your own. All live in their
           own, love their own, have theirs to own, do with
           as they desire. The dream in each one's mind
           makes up a future no past can undo
           without intent.  The dream awakens what
           our choice was all about.  The dream sends to
           the god inside, speaks to its demon, sees
           the one between, then finds out how to know
           without interpretation what it wants
           to be. The dream brings everything to one
           position, one resolve, one time, one nothing.

           Nothing moves itself so tight as nothing.
           Nothing moves the impulse. Nothing's there
           to ride the impulse through. To choose the one
           escape from silence. One to make it with,
           to do it with, to lose it all, just once
           to let it all be lost, then never mind
           the good or bad of it, the yes or no
           of it, the in or out of it, the do
           or don't of it, the images it sees
           or doesn't, who or when or why or what,
           to just let go. You know you want me to.

           I know I want myself to let go too.
           To let control control nothing but nothing.
           To let the sharpest edges sharpen what
           lies open, willing, haunted, dreaming their
           way out. To let the cut see as it sees.
           To let the cut come at me one on one.
           To cut, to let it do as it will do.
           To choose the edge to make the gesture with.
           To choose the patch of dream the edge will know.
           To choose the voice the voice inside most wants.
           And being chosen, bringing mind to mind.

           What's never over can't be undermined
           by balance. What's outside can't break into
           creation's moment. What creation wants,
           the gods already used. What's nothing, nothing
           makes it real. The moment's turning, no?
           The moment's turning nothing into what
           it needs for doing what I'm doing with
           the will, the dark, the dream, the impulse their
           momentum break, surrender, bend, redo
           the way their mirrored eye seemingly sees.
           What seems nothing's the same as seeming one.

           Nothing? Nothing? I can make that one.
           I can make that. I can make it mind
           its own. Can make it crack. Can make it seize
           its own. Can make its seizure bent in two.
           Its own in two. Can make its seizure do
           its own in two directions set at once.
           It's seizure there. Again it's seizure. There
           it's seizure. At once. At once. It's nothing
           breaking. Nothing ceases. One's one with
           it's own. Not one light lies deceased. It's no
           more void. No quiet. No forgetting what

           to rhyme it up with, what to sync with, what
           to cut to form. I'll not lose what got won,
           I know what's coming.  No submissions, no
           revisions, no alignments. I'll not mind
           what got unrecognized, I know what's with
           and what's without. The mind sees as it sees
           its storm, its peace, its rage, its quiet. Nothing
           sounds the same unless one chooses to.
           Nothing moves the same way as their
           blood moves, as their breath moves, as they do
           their going. Form's what every vacuum wants,

           what every body needs to turn to once
           each moment, once without an end. Form's what
           make bodies do what bodies love to do.
           Form's what image sleeps with one on one.
           Form doesn't stifle kisses, form inspires their
           embracing. Without form, it comes to no
           reality, orgasm, release out to
           a touch, a sigh, a heart, a time, a mind.
           Out where all else fades off to nothing
           else beyond that moment of and for and with,
           that moment through the form in which one sees

           the word. The moment that my form must seize
           with all I have. That word my body wants
           to come to in that moment I'm most with
           my love. That moment when I realize what
           that word will make of me. I mean nothing
           less than turning on myself. I do.
           It's what I do. I do. I speak my mind.
           I speak my dark. I make my dreaming one
           unending word. I move. I cut into
           the word. I turn. I flash. My thoughts make their
           own storm. My word forms every love I know.

           That's all: my word forms every love I know.
           When love is made, love makes the word one sees;
           when word is said, word says what loving's there.
           You merely need say yes and mean it once
           and I'll come out the way you want me to.
           That's all I have. You'll have to make do with
           whatever you might make of it. Not one
           more answer, not a chance. I've told you what
           you asked for. What? Repeat it? Never mind.
           Those who look for nothing see it as nothing.
           Those who can't see don't. Those who see do.

           No one sees what their mind wants 
                      nothing to do with.

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4 Responses to “In Formal Response”


  1. 2010.11.23 at 9:14 pm

    This is absolutely awesome. And (awe)inspiring. Thank you.

  2. 2 Maggie
    2012.01.30 at 5:36 pm

    I am entranced with your poetic ability. I share epilepsy with you, and I read lines of your poem over and over thinking, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”
    “No one touches what collapses for me there” — brilliant!

  3. 2012.02.06 at 3:45 pm

    It’s really good to see you here again! Very special touch, the best of promise, hope, life! Rest and be well.


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formal attire

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