Wednesday, December 11, 2013

text || Lawrence Upton

We cannot survive

possessions under grey sky
the earth seen he says wiping his mouth
it isn't a question

can't see through the volume
turned down at a screen
turning sighing

and gathering together they could hear voices

when he gets out

leaving little pieces

but she gets them

where you would be
that is something
beyond this frame out there


calm and whiteness
returns the light

in the real
he looks up from fires
all blown away

peripheral vision collected males
heedlessly accept the laws

push into another room

shake hands with your own media
anything at the end of the skull sometimes looks out
sometimes muddle each other up

something very important laughs
the face of the picture of the frame

pushes into another out of phase
it looks as if you would expect silence

hear voices when he gets them all
shiny steps to a considerable question
different in that world

 sunlight is replaced

there are variations
blushes bushing

semblance on semblance
slipping the top of the skull you look for summer
frame pushes into the analog night

prefer reality
and that is strange
the floor
some space all around
it may be grown
it is
rolled along reconstituting memory
the beatific dead combining themselves
in agreeable sounds and observations
one makes the situation he says
he says vandalism
and then fabricates
blowing away movement of air
blasting us all without going out and does not focus

sunlight is replaced again

lights come on to it

difficult living here
the original nothing
we're projections

one makes the situation
he says
the television a man
I don't want to die

the organ of sight does not glare
the eye
invisible in a small rectangle
all the same
he talks of the frame
but out of place
and regards me as if deliberately made
but various
each knot with its own little detail
i see an injury in space
and see its trail
we cannot survive

No comments:

Post a Comment