To see an
affirmation in this process requires great strength—
that cut-open souls exposed to prying sky veins visible path-ways
might become common
wealth have utility as
aqua-ducts even sewers
but that presupposes agency, knife-blade accuracy viability of private
resources who am I to say that myself deconstructed holds any interest?
Perhaps the prosaic nature of affect is the bluest blue of all, blue
folded into its own
uselessness like a blue wave
collapsed on a shore—
yet there is a (strange!) sense that one must continue, must or else
life will denote
nothing and that, true though
it might be is intolerable—
all this for Justine I met, held, kissed superb senselessness
that extends through perceptions of reality senseless, yet linked
to shattered possibilities of sense and to particulars (faces, places, names)
which deliver
illusions of permanence that
never was never will be,
ultimately “blue”
even when looking “up,” not down
the same—
Here is one way out— to say the names in that facticity
see a different blue, “electric,” not closed, undecided open to mixture
dynamic Selfhood, sky as
workable most importantly “present-minded”
blue manifest as “Now” blue breaths movements forward motions—
Justine need not be Beatrice “Blue Lady” is enough one head effaces
another I
am hers, for now, in text “blue
text” is droll making love
is droll too drollery as a mode of fullness, acceptance— “don’t stop believing”
subjectivity need not self-annihilate I can put two summers together create
a third, richer composite perceptions do not have to burn nor do we, awash
blue repose, reposed blue all around, eager intermingled “boned”
