diaper dialogues vi

those humans who live in northern rhymes and count to ten in the manners of polar night, who watch slowly sun establishing its bed preparing for that annual desertion we never quite get accustomed to, otum light leafing through leafless books of memory – there a leaf, here a leaf, everywhere a … and nowhere do the trees still hold those stairs / long down and to the secrets of eyes – join hands in realms not on wikipedia and wonder in their dreams if this is it … if this night is the last to name …

the mind spins around

lettuce in spinners

water draining bathtubs

otum in wind

we watch

not to assert supremacy or even any light in these processes on their own or against what may too often be called order or reason, neither to assert nor name

to watch

the delights of patterns, movement, even if not quite exterior

(but are they? – one isn’t really sure)

this remnant nature, in exile or hiding

that we can

(for a time anyway)

visit in the monolith of city
poshlost of soul

regulated scream

these idiots who believe in science the way enlightenment thinkers believed in education the way scholastics believed in god. there is only poetry which has no hope or agenda or budget, which does not damage the earth or pretend it has any truth or beauty. poetry is science and education and god. it barely even includes words anymore. it’s just a way of living in a world that’s forgotten how to live

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