|
Stacy Doris
from “Knot ”
Someone besets morning where to awaken’s
a mirage of union. The idea
Of adjacency is found in them on sight:a visual instance of collision.
Where the tedium of dreams rubs out, couples shore the landslide
of days.
Stitched to a leaf of that, become scenery, any change repeats,
enlaced
And allergic where flowers soak. A garden, then, sleeps’
perfection’s one
Friend, though it cordons each from another, divides where follicles
stand
For entwining or mere touch. Contact’s perhaps innately
flawed, in itself
A fault, as scratching aggravates an itch and is off-limits.
By deficiency, some tick or weakness, to
hold may be instinct. Grasping’s
In any case decorative, outlining patches or a semblance turned
fancy.
Arabesque; a scarf. At best, to cling’s a juxtaposition,
a sheathing in oils,
Thus slips, even in respiration,ciliate. Grease, so skin’s
procession, accrues
In slumber. Pools. Paradise exactly impoverishes thus: in crisp
sheets of
Proximity that illustrate a bridge where repose, whose evil’s
entire
Sundering, invariably ends in a diffusion of closeness: the hair’s
breadth.
This mirrors departure in unaccountability and miracle, too.
If anyone rules out awareness, or as long
as that lasts, we’re surely free,
But with missing pieces. When gone logic returns, is it undamaged,
back
Where left off, or rather rewired, dusted perhaps, shifted, candied,
warmed
As in rotisseries? More finely expiring, as expansion’s
aftertaste? Digestive?
And therefore is joy loss, but does it follow that breaking charts
gladness,
Or sorrow passage ’s souvenir, the one mark of change in
place without
Proof? Should grief be thanked beyond beauty, beyond judgment,
since
Lacking indices and stages?
ii.VII
|
