Monday, September 24, 2007

pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis (9/11/07)

in pursuit of the beautiful


must be forgiven

--Kykosa Kajangu

once we were children

knowing nothing

things were recognized

unable to be understood


the vibration

words without shape

a door met with hesitation

we know not what we thought then

now known to attempt

to reflect death

look one another over

stroll right out the window

knowing nothing




how they left the room

so much rain finally

for cracking ground

in the hospital

after holding hands

and walking backward

into the gray

someone said


she called sobbing

was drawn into a picture

standing with a child

she just met

before a giant flower

no one has ever seen before

he said a woman

looked into his eyes

pouring water over his head

compassion is monochromatic

people closer than gravity


and came together

we all saw it

he knew the scent

she reclaimed the air

in a sense

no science


we held our breath

today is Tuesday

it was Tuesday

it was tom’s room

she answered the telephone

knowing nothing

they entered a room

remarkably energetic

rain gave quiet warning

we introduced

were introduced

to something beyond

he said everyday

a saint

he said everyday

is the magnitude of


the ride home

settled rapid


the brain couldn’t

hard to move

a prayer

anywhere but forward

forked paths

to sleep

celebrate birth

or mourn

so small

linger of predatory

too much aggression

the speed of contact

braced for



stone to dark water

before the moment

knowing nothing

of the outcome

only routine

would the answer change

if Macbeth never encountered

weird sisters

suddenly so cold

apparently a misnomer


like coincidence

in divinity’s

perceptual sin

void of context

a pattern

not here

in whose eyes

her truth matters

trembling outside

present memory


interrupted twice document


the couch

huddled over new life

now confused as ever

topped off lungs

a wall between

chaos and opposition

a waning of belonging

desire of eyelid

repetition anniversary

silence as act of rest

to stand as witness

to say they jumped

and we watched

knowing nothing

six years still not sure

how to deal with

war all the time

a feeling almost passed

settled like dust in lungs

the severity of congestion

visible progression

as a fine red mist

coughed onto a hand

they held

each of us falling

knowing nothing

but the ground


smoked out

he said to turn on the tv

she never asked why


they turned it off

bitter the absence of solution

the absence of light

wasn’t unbelievable

1 comment:

Hayes said...

Tim and Joe, be assured the piece of self effacing irony...if you will... written above is in no way a comment upon or a derision of the exciting poems you both have blogged about recently....if more people wrote like you guys i might never have had the inspiration to write that peice!!!