Nov 132013
Again the page propounds its blandest blank,
Habitual, blase--void original of habitation--
Zoo's cage without a zebra, mind's tundra.
Its ski-slope, a-tilt, unlined, emptied of warm cabins
Slipped downslope like a glittery negligee,
Like nipples slipped from the foamy cone
Of a breast, emerges with virginal candor:
Bare, focal force of having never really been kissed.

So notes, so words, fall dismissed from the endless page--
Unzipped from history, from all the too long
Tomps of pomp, pharaonic phrase by phrase,
Illimitable lists of inimitable insistences, 
Veritable plagues of earnest meaning--too much,
Too resolutely, too earnestly meaning meaning--
The diminishment of demarcated thought, nailed down,
Defined, the house a house by penned precept
And never really home, the page
Typed and doodled, an ape of aptest palimpsest,
Catastrophes of happenstance made the measure
Of the possible, enforcing form on fantasy,
Draining the dearests dreams dram by dram,
Dimming the mystery.  

                     Scrape the language
Back to scrap, until every inward ululation
Best pursues its own iota of annihilation;
Syllable by syllable, strip each baying bell
Of its ding an sich of ding-dong-ding,
Subtraction returning inordinate thought
To grandest mayhapses and greenest might-bes--
Bone's cold potency re-fleshed to a baby's smile,
The bitter ribbon of sky refreshed, without its
Wild graffiti of constellations, scribble of stars--
The sea once more deep with unnamed animals,
The forest vert with infinite variety,
Each furred eye a planet, each tongue dumb.

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