| And It Came to Pass | ||
| by C. D. Wright | ||
This june 3 would be different Time to draw lines I've grown into the family pores and the bronchitis Even up east I get by saying goddamnit Who was that masked man I left for dead in the shadow of mt. shadow Who crumbles there Not touching anything but satin and dandelions Not laid his eyes on the likes of you Because the unconnected life is not worth living Thorntrees overtake the spot Hands appear to push back pain Because no poet's death Can be the sole author of another poet's life What will my new instrument be Just this water glass this untunable spoon Something else is out there goddamnit And I want to hear it | ||
a presence inspired by the production of perpetual passion. or perhaps vice versa. processual prose for the preservation of captivating moments. memory must exist to exist. i capture moments to make it so. "claudelean are you awake?" always. "if you could have one wish what would it be?" for an instant to forget my body. with a mind of material, i attempt to write out what is within. it helps me forget my body to make matter.
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