Excerpt - The Crystal Text

 
 
The highlighted section seems to decipher my AIM handle. Funky.
 
 

 
So going around surviving nothing so thinking of you
perfectly slantwise crystal of the middle of my life,
my distance surely kept, enfolded on a slightly
downcast vision. And the world that is not
you, but dangling on, I live by the light
of your density, sharply.

The trumpet says out, so we get up.
I do it, my nights my days, my heart thrumming
in shortening prison, a prism, master of rays
and lefthanded as I am not. Yet.

The world is a baffle that shows through to
you, everywhere. Almost, and pieces of banana
left in nearly empty refrigerator. But for them,
for me the world dials sink, in daily drink
and some respite. Solace is not general.
A joke is not less than what it names
and the crystal at the rim sits on my table,
perfect to the letter, one never sent, or kept either.

Crystal not survivable, but will remain me.
It lives in the sun-tipped palace of my regard,
until. One could place no period after it.
That I will change it, my challenge.
Its challenge, purefoot power of no regard.
In back of the house the washing lines up
with the sun disc, one cold day a life.

But does the light grow yellower in the crystals as I stare
harder, or has it been there as initial stain?
And now that I write this the flavor of its shards
glows again in ice-white.
Do you want to know something?
How? Interest in structure only in terms that a
language exists. Exists and or language,
entrances and exits. The words you have
lift from telling you going on exactly wherein.
The words continue, to reconsider the echo.
And the ersatz follower, you.
He signified that there was always something out there,
always also not in here. With them, all time,
all things, voices saying it and saying again it does,
it has, it will. It has will, said so once,
says so more and further, it was merely wanted
and never appears. So. Lone follower of you.

The brick wall, the grey kiln. The rose and the
specialty letters. You'll never know it green as
its width would. Started again, and then loss
of memory, stop. Entrance to the focal, the vocal fold
blocked. Continue anyway as does a pocket
redness and intermittent speech. The one beside you,
no one beside you, has the language.

To say the snow is all of my mind
to say the trees interruptions
to say the window keeps me
and to keep saying lies
as the base of time.

Colder tonight, cold as full tightness, you're brilliant
with glance, with hold, pact of death with detail,
detail with drink, you leave the emptiness
of all else air with silvered me, headful draught.

I saw you that
you that would not meet me
slantways in the slow
burn of time, close of cold
fronds of air that sew
thoughts needless, beck of pen
to sorts of light that clasp
you are that baffled star that hides not
slips through the palms' tongues, slivers
and reigns
and I whistle the word no longer
your name