Musings2 by Jennifer K Dick

After MUSINGS by Christine H (a.k.a roseconsciousness) 19 March 2009 posting.

To write something into existence (murder)
to be eggshell-solid air except for emptiness: this.
Beginnings begging off (white) (tinted) (tainted) shell to,
as Boully says to begin means,
Locked up outside the same glass.
Window cut to cabinet.
Shift the light, the blare.
I refuse to mean. Be.

**
How to write something into a key is visible nowhere.
Everywhere HER.
Here, a way opened up, an exactitude.
This, she says, is to peek through:
an existence.
How can that be translated into writing?
I or I or…cracked ice, then:
Framing comes to mind.

**
Is the writing making a poem making
a text making closed feeling open
making
what is it (it is) I hold back from making?
You?
To feel
due to belated fees, fried foods, fragments pointing out
this is what juts up out of ME.

**
“The writer withholds
the possibility of touching”
she says, means
“smelling/feeling/imagining/”
Think “language, far from me.”
Scamper away into a woods.
Withhold a space
where I can engage with
this:
death. (Murdered?)
Which culprit is author?
I refuse to be. Mean.

**
The notion of I
versus you.
If I track the fissure in this glass with my eyeball
Will you bleed over the dining room table?
Open-closed, the Venetian
BLIND
Inside.
In both cases it seems up to the viewer,
content
to fill (feel) the beginning.

**
Bookended,
I wander outside of consciousness
consciously
Because I knew endings affected her.
the body never existed before the murder
to mean ‘kill’ is concrete
as that stilled
Body
Language is still
as something else.
Silence?