from Not Without Tree

By | 1 March 2015

In postponing the future a gesture pointed at the sun. Is this a branch, you said or some
ectype of mystery? Nothing of the sort I said, only the morning gale and the hurry on
startled by a sudden thought.

Is this intelligence you asked, lapping the shore as solid transparencies? No, it is only
an error of comedic misfortune.

Is that the only wish of a thought, you asked, to be the first of its cast? I know only of
the bird among the spruce and of that I know little.

I know my origin has a different hue, my gender a reflex among the pine. I cannot hear
the fear above this din you cried. Softly I spoke and you ran.

Welcome genius here is your containment of isolation and despair suffering from the
handicap of illegitimacy.

I am writing poetry you want. Am I writing poetry you want? This is the difference we
made you by, the social condition we set you by. It was a novel & deeply affecting trap.
This is a fact, it is not chance but causation. WTF. It cannot be denied.

What you require does not rediscover the unity of nature. It wasn’t lost! This is your own
game played with your own rules. “Ihr sollt wieder Freunde von den nächsten Dingen

There is a recurrent difficultly with address. We are living to soon. Or like a blade of grass,
erased from the dialectical by the erection at the gallows. Closing your eyes, a page,
dissolved to what you think of silence, retaining spruce & a solo pine tracing the sacred
along strips of a further complicated not solely green.

Nothing of what you say says much, does it!? I told you, be careful, fears will persist and
my heart has left its dwelling place.

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