The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

June 29, 2007

mother i will make

mother i will make a solemn vow
to continue this line by line and couplet

we'll try to hold ourselves, twist these interiors
of bodies destined for their loss of sound or memory
of bodies destined for their lack of history

such is presence that whatever is effaced is lost in time
and disappears with my death, and not your own

mother you ride me, mother you penetrate my mind
skewered on creation of film, no birth of sound or screen

within a single window, whereupon now anyone
can restablish the empire of fouled thoughts

not absent history which implies another way
of shoring up against a multitude of presence

or your death, not mine, no matter how
someone watches and grants the gift of sight to you or me

mother, a mannequin could do no better,
you have to understand
a mannequin could do no better

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