IV
to lay—in the dark
intoning in tune
with the waves moaning
in purposeless calm
is to know this, I
cannot, in the object
hold (the) ‘myself’
inside this busted-lock
of surf beach
changing room
without the cold
suspicion that
the ‘I’ who moves
the green pencil
across the narrow page
of an complimentary
Agriculture notebook
with pencil-hold
compartment
in the spine
wakes alone
/not alone, & isn’t in
the actual, the
Whereness,
but a presence
in a spectrum
calibrated for—
the maculate floor.
om
g!
the clear
crystal grains
holdlight
becomingstars.
always like yr playful line breaks. om//g, i learnt that tick from you a few years ago. i like how that flutters the mind. i like v much the closing stanzas. i’m glad yr posting. did you submit to that competition?
Hi Peter…you know the notebooks? I’ve used them for years, I love them. The experience was brief, but deep enough to sense the immense otherness present everywhere.
Hi Dean, great read as ever. Just hope you weren’t ‘imprisoned’ too long there with your lovingly described notebook in the moment the sand grain/ flooring grain took you within its starlight.
and hello Peter. wheres you been!