Too much text

from Surian Soosay.

Urge of the demi

You
And I
Are not one.
You take for granted
That I take for granted.
But what if I know myself?
What if I know what I know
And know what I don't know?
What if the world's more duping
Than duped? More deceiving than
Deceived? What if the only true things
Are paradoxes? And the only true things
Are ineffable? But there is an extinguishing
In the blue hour, of a small and isolate thing,
When an ectoplasm struggles to exist or erupt
From the static form formerly filled in and warm.
But no, nothing. Nothing brushed my face, no moth
wing wafted my ear, nothing numinous oozed away.
Fuck death. Fuck death and dying, I'm sick of trying
To care about carelessness. The point's been much made
And death poetry will not be forgiven. But what poetry will
Be forgiven its importunate existence, time and energy eating,
Silk-lipped mouths, still toothy, pap-hungering, all glossolaling.
Excuse me if I'm an anti-edificer here respecting neither fronteirs
Nor roles. I'm not sorry. I've tipped passed the point of pardonable
Eccentricity into po-mo multiplicity, unhinged Zappaism, iconoclastic
Scribbomania, an artificer of worlds unbounded, over eager, word drunk.
I seek to hold and spellbind you and myself with my prosthetic proselytizing
and imperfect cosmos. Ingeminate me. Or spurn me. It's all the same. It's all been
stamped, felt, built, killed. Coding's easier than decoding. Bellies bloat on the immaterial.
I am one of many. We're all in mystery. We refuge in representation's ever order of the day,
Each era is overtaken in the unfathomed advance that berefts bedrock but leaves not nothing,
Perhaps interstitial nets for the networked, intersecting in n-dimensions, dew-sodden and tenuous.
I grant that I take for granted that you take for granted. But perhaps our for-granteds synergize or cancel-out and
We know that we know and we know that what we know is as nothing as everything. Our worlds and words are
Inscribed in level sand and a moth wind wafts. We are voiced and eructating and we may not be one but we are not alone.

Quatrains

-
Flipping felines yowl
"Copycat me pussy!
With sure celerity
I never fall afoul."

Re-posted here.

-
Kiss-me-quick toes,
Giantess arches,
Gorgonzola veins:
Endless delectations.

Re-posted here.

-
Fight or settle.
For what; what on?
Here I am, Salt Lake.
Move along...wait, stay Mormon.

-
Here I am, dank swamp,
Retrograde river romp.
Here I am in the ether.
I’m an eel in the ether.

-
Here I am, the womb.
I'm a parasite in the womb.
I'm a sybarite in the womb.
Can't keep me down.

-
Manifest destiny's
Logical conclusion's
A Pacific of pilgrims,
But, “We shall build here.”

-
Balustrade autarky,
Inside I'm free.
Percutaneous X,
We inter-annex.

-
Take nothing
Tell no lie
Grow towards the sun
Until you Icarus.