Tuesday, 2/5/2013

Yes, Tuesday just passed by, or rather
I rode Tuesday around the sun, the
diurnal progression, in cognito 

   but more than that---I rode 'round
   the sun, while spinning!

Can't remember much, just the work 
attending to slippages of language
prying at resistances to English

shoe-horning of soft pink tongues
and palates. Urging them to align
with our brain waves, or else

torturing to the finer points of
prepositional phrases and logical
word order. Past-perfect-present

say what you will...
      while outdoors there was
magnificent planet riding;
      we're getting so good at this
working, breathing, walking, eating
while spinning thing
          That was the day, and that
was the shell of the day. A tin box
containing a nail and a used ink
                 an 8.5 earthquake
some thousands of miles away
         (and tsunami)
and somewhere a shark-eating seal
bloodies the sea
          while sardines in their schools
turn and turn

Random lines from online:

At this point, despite the claims on me of isness, ipseity, immanence; 
despite the cardinal directive of virtually all secular or profane
philosophies – i.e. “lead your life in the moment and nowhere and at 
no time else,” I continue to find the questions “why? what for?” 
fundamentally overwhelming. Entertainment left completely behind, 
the point of producing Hope in the form of poetry seems to withdraw 
into immeasurable distance and alienation. In plainer words, how and 
why does a thinking human being continue the activity of hoping when 
in the absence of all apparent ground for Hope? 

---Nathaniel Tarn on Poetic Production, the "Embattled Lyric," and 
a Topography of Hope, excerpted in wood s lot