How Profoundly Uninteresting Life
How profoundly uninteresting life is in the uncaring light–
in the fierce oncoming light.(1) Things are and are not. Like water
dreaming of itself. The leech gatherers circle a bleeding
metronome. The sky loses consciousness.(2) Unholy
as a sunlit candle I have long felt secretly dead
beneath the banyan’s magnificat. An epiphyte. The thing
is dead. All things destroy themselves or are destroyed. Eyes
in the shape of eyes. The shallowest iris on the emptiest
eye.(3) How unprofound all utterance. What’s spoke unlaws belief.
An eye unmoored. Nothing deader than a fish or wish when spoke.
Garish garnish. Artichoke. Everything is in meantime.(4)
There’s no anticipation in family life. Where when the death
you might have died belongs to you no longer?(5) Is no more
than a duskshot mackerel sky’s iridic mirific? Gone
tomorrow.(6) Last light’s valance the valence of failance sprent
over everything. Pardine time. Sweet sorrow. Incivism
by dint of living to intimate life’s stupidity
its eminent unlivability. And yet recidivism’s
cupidity until quietus immanent the querent
quiets down. Your imminence one’s imminence approached approved forgot
as everything is meant to be forgot.(7) A dove sounding time.
Like I losing I until what’s left remains remains. Always remains.
Always one horse watching. Always one albino turkey.
A winter gleaning from the farmer’s trail past the second
field to a third one thought was woods not tilled enclosed
and bulrushed by a sun enhaloing haecceity. Compline
’skipped. Instaurate. From vespers to lauds. A witchinghour aubade. One’s
tektitic quiddity and quale the empyreal hearth
and heath. ’Snowdjinnous gratuity uttered. Alterity.
Halcyon eavedrip sparktear and snowshelving roofs—
icesheathed chains released the Mobil hoarding creaks ferrous
and inviting as against the fulgent sky a heron
furcates homing sandhills. Somewhere a horse is far
enough to float and yet remain equine among horizonal
’snowdjinnous glitter. Vim. A four-in fielded knollwicked grazer
enjoining enjoining ad infinitum joyous in unpurposing.
An endling’s labor’s furthest daena is the daeva
of the repanded edge past quantum’s metanoic skepsis.
Theopathy. To live in it as it until untilling
even what one has not is taken, life is found
dead, even farthest elsewhere founded found dead no matter
how brown the sun embowered by the storm is and is
to be, no matter the barkless sycamore hulled vestal
against the darkling tree line farthest from the road. Wherenow
the jolt of possibility remanded. Wherenow the veiny map
itself the key against the darkling trees, earthended sun a moment
a maumet taxigold as half the sky unstorms embowels becomes
benighted. The world will offer itself to you to be unmasked.
It can’t do otherwise. In raptures it will writhe before you.(8) An endling.
A chamfered eye chamfering taws a sky of contrails floaters
and agate agape sundogs’ downpour of dowsers caught
like virga coruscant and mise en abyming every such
January Saturday too blue and blimpful to believe
beyond the tawse of trees above the tare of chaff. The wish
to die’s to understand. More dazzling than the sun the star
beside the sun.(9) The bluing hour wherein kitchen lamps
and dome lights alight coeval with absconding dusk, no warmer
moment than the justlit life within the darkling homes beneath
a lastlit sky’s penult sigh nonetheless the grand finale’s nature
morte vivante, each windowed tableau a holon the night to come.
FOOTNOTES:
Joy Williams
Thomas Townsley
Wallace Stevens
Thomas Townsley
Joy Williams
Gary Indiana
Joy Williams
Franz Kafka
Franz Kafka