Art Nouveau After-Life

This readiness – summoning its unchecked course –
expenditure of force – its sensitive irruptive energy – delicate –
attenuated – gently throbbing into chaos, vagrant sinuosity of line –
a vine that pulses with a fine determination to press out, unfurl

into a bloom – though not quite yet, not in this room, not in your hands,
not yet this year, not yet: this readiness demands a bursting queer
attention – it’s only just begun to set: although the moment holds exactly
everything it needs to reach its bold apotheosis, the closest you

can get, right now, right here, is to experience a sweet vertiginous
expansion: not to wait, there is no waiting, but to be the bated breath
that knows the purer air it needs to breathe is as inevitable as the death
to which it knows it must, as well, concede – and that the panoply

is swinging round and full of an impending groundlessness which will
absorb all linearity and demonstrate its power by making possible
that flower – which, with a fresh remembrance, and beyond all
gravity and din, you’ll know you’ve always been.

.