Tuesday, July 26, 2016

She Required Something Else Instead

Since she was convinced
imparting sense by parsing out
the lingua sacra of philology –
whose adamantine simulacra –

surgically sharp slices
of abstraction –
while purporting to reveal
what could be known and said,

in fact were crushing
sense till it was dead,
well – she required
something else instead.

And so, like Ezra Pound
(though who knew
why he gave up sound),
she’d give up words:

toss the weightless
turds up in the air
and watch them
not go anywhere.

She grew her yellow hair
as long as it would grow,
and daily combed it
to a golden glow –

as if she could find in its lyrical lines
the signs of a sensual means
of detecting the trembling tenet
she so hoped was there –

like the delicate pulse
of a bird or an elf –
the elsewhere she couldn’t
find anywhere else.


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