Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Paterson: Book II, Chapter 1, p. 45--(so close are we to ruin every day!)

(so close are we to ruin every day)

the waves begin so forcefully
and move so rapidly light flecks from them
in urgent bursts
of unbelievable whiteness.

Windows break, as bodies also break,
and thousands of eyes collect, signal, and transmit
a thing not yet filtered, understood, or seen.


Death pushes me from death.
The spectacle adds distance
in years, thoughts, and means:
I cannot die like this.

I know your secret, my betrothed:
you are not a ghost,
you are a lover.  Like a lover,
I know you less for your body,
and I make you exotic.  

I cannot die
Like this.
I will sleep in. 


8 minutes ago,
the sun erupted
 like a million
plasma flared
one hundred thousand miles
into empty space;
and light explodes
across the foot of my bed
like a bomb.

KMC 4/16/13

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