Self-regulation is widespread.But there is no exemption forwhat happens when we notice it.Consciousness is a soft thumb,the subtlest of pressures, thatalters everything; no thing isnot touched by this tiny bushwack.Now the word on the street isalteration.In town a local deli is connected to asmall bar. I remember the two spacesas a tailor shop. One touch remains asa reminder. Over the doorway that connectsthe bar to the deli is a sign that reads:"Alterations within."In a local dream someone showed mea photograph of the moment whensleep finally connected to wakefulness.As from a newsreel a voice said it wasthe greatest achievement in our history.The photo showed two pieces of half-eatenfruit. "What's this?" I heard myself say."You just missed the two parrots," said the voice.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Friday, May 11, 2012
I watch the L passing. It is late.
Faces roll by, streaming, back-lit.
It is early, someone is buttoning my shirt.
The L is passing through my mind.
Aspects of the body click and brighten,
dim and damper.
"My heart is thinking," I hear myself say.
Nearby a bee is settling, a thimble of radiance.
Across the street a brick building climbs,
carrying the sun to its crown.
The sun is in vantage, pouring down,
reciprocating the last moment.
In the distance, some time, some place,
deep in the green,
a small naked woman holds a blue plastic box.
She knows a tiny person dwells within.
She has heard his voice, his music.
I brush my teeth, unable to reach any of this.
This is all so tentative, full.
This is all so contingent, empty.
Walk with me awhile.