Mania/Lines
Line, the word exerts a pull
the thought of being drawn out to an end
the string wants to be tautened
nerves must be strung, they seek their ache
whirring
is the nerves’ song
we
are on our way to ending, but – towards
the red strokes of the nerve atlas are so
beautiful
many miles of you are within me
if you are unravelled
become
a bird formation
we want to burn up in air
we want to be lines
our urge is to be c o n s u m e d
symmetry
would have soul’s breath
symmetry
will be my death
Despairing anguish, here you do not belong
in the long
grey,
languishing thread
how does all become constraint
this mournful control I
have begun to exercise over my being
must be exorcised at all cost
be forced off the stage
disappear
is a gain, to be wholly unequalled
think in slightly holier and happier terms
instead
to go to the utmost is a wonderful duty
to be delighted purely and simply by light
a rare commodity
no
the opposite
What is it that sounds of fingers
performing Bach
an infinity
so does it sound, and therefore so harrowing
how it just ends
fades away
freezes in the line of Contrapunctus 14
that’s how it was, everything stopped
in mid-breath grasp
the bed-frame
the room’s turned upside-down
in
the seconds when you
died
with my hands I grasp an arm
my tears flow and take grief with you
hear that which continues sound
within the body beyond all speech
notes are the bones that sing
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