#626 - a little book of letters to myself

 

19.ix.21

626

2.261

a little book of letters to myself

 

the prologue and the guidelines missing

 

can’t plan for this

but here we are

only so long on this Earth

must write my elsewhere self then

 

greetings old man

last testament

and will he won’t he?

wagtail too

 

could be a book of questions

instructions, forewarnings

spare wings

 

I write to myself in the future

I write my ancient history too

the whippersnappery

 

smug youth!

how setting out, all expectation otherworldly

in astronaut attire

 

the million years pass

we arrive behind the speed of light

 

meaning must have dreamt

 

now ruins where we were

all that was crossed was time

need processing

windowless, airless like the quarantine hotel

 

there is no interest in our artefacts

nor can they see what we’ve become

we primitives, their good as guess

and once were gods

no worship now

 

it’s like dealing with instinct, id

cages cannot be seen

nor other restraints

 

hindsightings

species now extinct

isn’t that where we live in the present?

 

in the narrow world

where told what to be

which song to sing

how painting must depict

 

by means of some such levitation

I am watching the bird in the mandarin tree

beak to each little sun it must wreck

dizzy with possibility

 

a conjure of aspect, tense

the cure is long and far

 

always on another wavelength

I’m another animal

I’m from another world

… the creature from …

 

not a thought for me

 

I write to myself in dark ages

I write to a distant star