#838 - my practice

 

21.iv.22

838

3.111

my practice

for Amanda Donohue, because she asked

it is and it won’t be described

 

begins where I am [tangle and lost]

until (nor is it to please)

but comes from a fascination

 

my work is play is work (…so on)

 

a prayer and forgive me this fashioning of gods

I pick things up out of the air –

there’s every word ever spoken still

(limp but I try to revive)

 

a make off with fairies of course

it’s the upside down of days, months, years

consists of all I am

 

rusting, untangle, a guessing game

woven of mere trinket and just to fit the page

must lead to BE – continuous line!

 

my edge of forever everywhere we go

congenital affliction (I mean that I was born with this)

oscillate between colour and none

brush, pencil, pen, burnt stick

 

I beat it with a drum to tell

one keyboard leads to another

a chord about in strings

 

better than religion – weep, shout, shake

 

and why? because I live and breathe

it’s all there is to sneeze at

until the cows come home

 

so make a maze to be where we’ll meet

over the moon on our way

 

the little box you’d like me in

call it a coffin, shall we?

it’s where I join the dots

 

here everywhere and then all gone

 

I am from the ages of paper

and must lie down now here

and where

you find me every day