Wednesday, May 22, 2019

Another Party with Oneself

One's face, one rather has to think, may
in a pause pretend it only ever coolly
and impartially imparts how it participates
in the provision of the parts it needs to prod
into producing yet another party with oneself.
In fact it is precipitously party to expressing
every last perception in a breath or blink,
all part and parcel of particulars presenting
the preemptively prevailing veil of its
preeminently prescient sentient particles,
those presciently intentional and present
participles in the grammar of the psyche
bent on prompting themselves into those
most actively theatrical plum parts to which
one is particularly partisan, while patently
partaking of each intimate presentiment
that fills a moment with its meaning, preening
with the prospect of perfection it may finally
be able to effect. One's face is partitively
partisan, dividing in the precincts of one's
heart exactly where and how to play the play
in toto and in part, artist partner to the artisan,
parsing out the poetry to part the way toward
yet another parturition: speciously believed
by some as narcissistically, giving life to art.

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