Horizon-al Noon!


Following I transcribe the scribbling I just done in your instructive constraint (expanse?) of body-write. Feel-ya as free as pigeon to do with as-ya May (ist almost June):

[first, I didn’t have the computer screen too near, I went out onto a stump sits by a house I sleep in, sat at the edge of a fire-pile (unlit) in among what’s mainly maples, but there’s other unknown leafs alimb, & many itchy bugs afoot. So I made a listing page of the contemplation, as directed, & though I was not asked to write again @ the very end, I made that also in my list of horizoning to-do’s. I had in me some unspoken imagining of the question, but now find I glanced at it much to my over-thinking-chagrin. Still there is something here, & since you asked me to be a poet, & since your writing on the horizon asks a poet to practice being a poet, & to share, this be the sharing thereof (in three sessions: 0 {pre-sit}, 1 {midsit-freewrite}, 2 {end-sit gathering moment})]


Some beginning symbols (what cobs my current web):
Making a nest with balloon dinosaurs & plastic fire-trucks.
Objects of Home – stones & photographs.
Horizon as Home – eternally present/ever-receding.
Constant distance.
Be on that distance.
A journey through the valley & the forest.


Nest                      Horizon                              Stone

Snapshot             Comfort                              Far/Body

Nose                     Knows                                  Being/Free

Notice                  Nothing                              Connect/Return



What cloud (could) there graze come,
Come, comme fat-breathed cow,
Lazing infinities of directed vision
Possess also, there, their peripheries, Horizons.

That which meets out with in
Ground with groundless


That which is met is met & meets
In me—

—to be within an on of distant met & meeting
—to place a pace across a facile nothing, a reaching-over-there,
—to shift eye inner earring gold ajangle inner in her hair hangs where,
caught up with you, so far-fetching scent of I

You carry an eye to my furthest I,
I, past your horizon, am on,
& so are meeting our meetings met not.

Ill-captivated linguas dazed & frazzle in withins
Cascading waffles sculpt-id soft of waffle-whats
In worded thought.

A line which is not, makes
Much as a circle or a capsized bowl,
Upon which marbley May roll my
Many nights of moon,
When the low oblong look—

She waistes, engorged, us seams of lightful eye
(seems light, full, I) (she gorgeous: we waits)

Remember, from the edge of naught & none-where comes
The nothing-waters crawling out my glints thereon a sun
I the self of son eyes selfly sun, I sumtimes dun,
Looking larger on the false off far
Than feathers of dust come drift
The air of light seeming light
As air in light, when eye,
Above, at my noonest raised,
Cast burns apparent absently
On the ape-skinned race at Home.

& of a sudden flickering out the edges in a mind’s why
A surrounding forest sudden still & wafting pungent
Greens & seems & seams & seems – obstructeroscuro:

The end of vision.

There is, in close collection of roots & roofs,
Some barrier to the separation on which I
The light in light, a light enlight, begun become
Become again

                               & still—unwitness of
the great “forever-in.”

Sapling boughs give way to deeper green canopies
Of high maple over bright vinyl sided Homes,
Lawn mower roams
In echoes of unseen other yards, time immotorable,
Among the finches perhaps is heard a mockingbird,
& how are we to know?

Body—heart & lung—take & fill
Unsatisfied with the complicated molecule,
Mixtures big as air—by peeling off at edges
Deals in the common tongue of flower & primate:

We are Penelope together in the language of the unseen loom,
Weaving & unweaving the air.
Wilting & reposing. The exchange is thus:
If she goes, I also go.

If nothing is not illusion, then no illusion is not real. A negation often begs for cancelation of the thought, but here. Is is not & is. Makes simpler the line of the equation & expands the field of its plotting. What is, is not. What’s not, is. Don’t be overdeposited with the desire to cast off the remainder of the thought. Though meaningless, it casts a light. A color close to blue: My horizon to my Home. Illusion of my distance, joined. Illusion of a closeness, coined, “where e’er my hat’s ahung.”

At Home I’m told lives comfort. On horizon, there is Home. What’s more: each is a nothing recedes when I’ve done a little more than be tempted to touch.

A nest consists.
(But the of  {deepens   in} the animal)
{depending on} the animal).



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