Friday, April 17, 2009

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
what is it (it is) I hold back from making?
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
Think “language, far from me.”
Scamper away into a woods.
Withhold a space
where I can engage with
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
In both cases it seems up to the viewer,
to fill (feel) the beginning.

I wander outside of consciousness
Because I knew endings affected her.
the body never existed before the murder
to mean ‘kill’ is concrete
as that stilled
is still
as something else.

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