Author: poeticelectric@gmail.com

 

 simply that, in its destruction
 finds its function but
 to hold   it    is what’s sufficient
  
 the electromagnetic spectrum 
 condensed, becomes
 a laden sum 
 of place and affect
  
 to you, archaeologist, all are ostraca,
  
 fragmented letters from
 a discarded accounting,
 an anonymity celebrated
 as the revelation of a voice
  
 but there is more
 in being lost, then found
 than the mundane named 

 
 

 the confluence of structure
 fluidity mired in existence
 a seepage of muck, crud;
 in it, no breathable space
  
 and I find that the 
 desire of it burns as
 strong as the impossibility 
 of it crushes
  
 and I find that the 
 will of it strives as
 hard as the negation 
 of it suppresses
  
 what I need is time
 what I think is time
 what I must have is
  
 duration, eras pass
 in soft rotations
 my life is spent
 spent again
  
 newly acquired state
 of currency
 the now of it
 is the death of it
  
 seek decomposition
 re-entry into this food
 chain of vegetal life
 sacred work expired
  
 time to turn the muck over
 where time is the fifth element
 allowing for the breaking
 avoiding conflagration
  
 new form
 rendered molecular
 to be taken in and up
 and held so close 
 to the center/heart
 that it becomes
 that which holds it