Message-ID: <Pine.NEB.4.64.0611301322310.3430@panix3.panix.com>
From: Alan Sondheim <sondheim@panix.com>
To: Cyb <cybermind@listserv.aol.com>, Wryting-L <WRYTING-L@listserv.wvu.edu>
Subject: my work is perfect roundness
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 2006 13:22:54 -0500 (EST)
my work is perfect roundness my work is perfect roundness there's nowhere to break in perfect music's soundless silent in the din of others' cries and speaking always in the light of bodies cursed and leaking wounded in the night. i cannot stomach answers i cannot harbor talk languages are cancers speech an idle squawk the tension in my style nothing is at stake i'm thinking all the while for buried closure's sake bones are made from flesh flesh is made from bones caught in indra's mesh speaking monotones i closed the doors to thought and opened wide to life whatever is, was sought appearances are strife i closed the world's thick door i gathered meanings all and always what's in store has always been my pall i lived inside my death and died outside my work my breath was dying breath i died inside the murk that struggled spoke in cant said nothing left to say said nothing left to rant decoded my mainstay what fell apart lay far away what's nearer haunted me i conquered near and far alway what's near taunted me what's far deserted me in utter quietude i circled circled me my language hewn and rude i cast away the spell and burned symbolic core dark days upon me fell and night upon me bore - "my work is perfect roundness i see within the night i hear in perfect silence i die within the light" - so do not speak o stranger o gods stay stock and still i never was in danger of thought i've had my fill i worked my way through column language text and poem theory hard and solemn allowed me in its home theory cold and wondered brought me to an end from earth i am asundered there's no way left to wend there's nothing left to send from earth i was and thundered from death-life i did fend from life-death nothing pondered and this was what i penned and this was vowed and written and like a missive kenned and sealed and forgotten and brought once more to bend against all conversation against discussion's play without equivocation that closes down the way