Fictions though I am,
muds fired briefly into fauna,
a creature nowhere and always
	in search of hypothesis,
pure for a single breath only,
	at the beginning,
I yet cry that what appears
	recedes, but this:

Love—surprising
	in sparse thrusts of light
	through fog of glimpse
	of distant death—
love holds the body together,
	kintsukuroi, iron sharpening iron,
heart's frictions
	weathering as they heat,
scattering embers,
repairing the vessel only in time
	to drown, ecstatic, drifting
	toward unseen ocean.

So heavy in the muck of years,
we must strive,
tracing the silted path
back out of ourselves,
back out of memory and tide,
tikkun olam,
	burning to make light.

Burning to make light

UbuWeb / PennSound Archive

Sleep Naked Among Sweet Melody

Perfidia Lovesong

technologist, data whisperer, mediaphile, pilgrim, dreamer of dreams

argotechnica