So we find ourselves
wandering from thought to thoughts
ghosts in each others minds
trespassing from page to page
the little distance
keeps us sane

And it’s what we know
written from nerves to wires
invisible behind the mirror
which keeps us high like gods
almost touching I
as in Icarus

So, you sit like this
wondering what box this fits in
foolish, old, or with a grin
counting deeper in the picture
who the watcher is
of the three

---

Inspired by:

A passage from
Draft 88: X-Posting
Rachel Blau DuPlessis
A free variation on “Keine Delikatessen” by Ingeborg Bachmann

Without delicacies, without delicacy,
no rhetoric either
and certainly without refinement
I stand before you
foreign and distant,
(although near and constant)
wondering
whether any part of this is worth it.
Questioning
whether I feel anything
I can talk about, and
whether thinking about feeling,
were I to bring myself to “do” it,
to make that effort,
is particularly worth it.
What is the force of my conviction?

As seen on
wood s lot

---

Labels: artform, echo, experiment, passages