Tuesday, May 30, 2017

45-49 toward the Omer

tiferet/netzach/hod/yesod/malkhut shebmalkhut

It would be tempting to say that I was too present with the world to write poems in their times for the last five days of presence week but that would not necessarily satisfy me, in any case it is these words in a rush,

a contemplative rush, a still somewhat filtered rush, a rush with pauses, a rush with backspaces, a rush with eddies one could say, and somehow no matter what happens the current carries forward, at the end the preparation has happened and we are standing here again,

standing right here again, what shape will I receive this time, what flowers will grow out of me, what thunder shall reverberate through my chest and not shatter me, what poem can I write in twenty minutes that I am not ashamed of without having to rely

on saying that it was written in twenty minutes, what are the words that glow with where they came from, what will ignite the glow that they could come from, ignite is not the right word, what bed will allow the glow to rest and smile, to sleep

and dream out a new beginning, a new old beginning, a love, a love rooted in my circulation, what is the preparation, there is no preparation, the words run out just in time for the words to come again, the words run out, they run out just in time

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