this is where we look for things
12.11.01 - 3:55
Paradoxes And Oxymorons
This poem is concerned with langauge on a very plain level.Look at it talking to you. You look out the window.
Or pretend to fidget. You have it but you don't have it.
You miss it, it misses you. You miss each other.
This poem is sad because it wants to be yours, and cannot be.
What's a plain level? It is that and other things,
Bringing a system of them into play. Play?
Well, actually, yes, but I consider play to be
A deeper outside thing, a dreamed role-pattern,
As in the division of grace these long August days
Without proof. Open-ended. And before you know it
It gets lost in the steam and chatter of typewriters.
It has been played once more. I think you exist only
To tease me into doing it, on your level, and then you aren't there
Or have adopted a different attitude. And the poem
Has set me softly down beside you. The poem is you.
