sudden tent

user/ May 11, 2020/ Poetry

huddled in a sudden tent
all life sleeping
`cept the cockroaches
and the restless dog that stirs
in the dry leaves

quiet-ringing silence

the house shifts in its unconsciousness
searching for the precise comfort
the proper way to sit
in the turbulent soil

i’m dreaming of the moment of transfiguration
if it will ever be possible to locate
that exact point
that divides or connects (we cannot say)
this from that
and having found the hollow keystone
this arch of differences rests upon
remove it, forget it, un-imagine it
and watch as it collapses
all into the

i cannot even say why i desire it
perhaps it desires me
perhaps it is i that is being written about
that is being spoken of

perhaps i am the dream
has in her sleep
whenever she finds pockets in the chaos
and imagines what might have been

but i’m dreaming of that zero-moment
when all falls still
the voice becomes alm
and motion, motion
we’re walking through a waterless ocean

awake is all
it’s a life play
no missed lines
rehearsal is myth
the house is full
the house is full
the audience buzzing
but there’s no problem
we’ve been here before
countless times
we are accumulations of
stories within stories
(within stories)

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