(no subject)
A brief unstranding -
another day.
spirals fraying and we just want to go away.
We've heaped up piles like we pile heaps and
turned our traction into crinkled up scrapped sheets.
another bar, another note, no other caesura than the pencil-down sound around
too late for another coat.
Eyes in the dark.
Singing patterns called out still in the dark.
Calling out the rhythm of the spin,
build me backwards and unstrand me all again.
Holding in hand.
A fall leaf falling and the heart arrest of sand,
-come to me now-
the slow undazzling of everything already planned
palpitations of perception that we were in control of our letting go.
were we in control of our letting go,
our letting go of all of our control?
Eyes in the dark.
That fellow feeling
of the whole ship reeling
Holding in hand.
The sweet release of identity clutched in the sand,
to much to be man
much to much to be sought for who we are
and the turn of the form
like a lighting fire that forms
fighting the whole of the whorl, the swirl the turn
unstrand me again.
don't let me form me again.
all of the let go of control that I know needs to be real.
You knead and I reel,
sinking: the misplacing and the mislaid.
Eyes in the dark. with no point of reference you reference your point.
Your notes don't need to be formed in fashion
never written just sung and restated.
another day.
spirals fraying and we just want to go away.
We've heaped up piles like we pile heaps and
turned our traction into crinkled up scrapped sheets.
another bar, another note, no other caesura than the pencil-down sound around
too late for another coat.
Eyes in the dark.
Singing patterns called out still in the dark.
Calling out the rhythm of the spin,
build me backwards and unstrand me all again.
Holding in hand.
A fall leaf falling and the heart arrest of sand,
-come to me now-
the slow undazzling of everything already planned
palpitations of perception that we were in control of our letting go.
were we in control of our letting go,
our letting go of all of our control?
Eyes in the dark.
That fellow feeling
of the whole ship reeling
Holding in hand.
The sweet release of identity clutched in the sand,
to much to be man
much to much to be sought for who we are
and the turn of the form
like a lighting fire that forms
fighting the whole of the whorl, the swirl the turn
unstrand me again.
don't let me form me again.
all of the let go of control that I know needs to be real.
You knead and I reel,
sinking: the misplacing and the mislaid.
Eyes in the dark. with no point of reference you reference your point.
Your notes don't need to be formed in fashion
never written just sung and restated.