Marcella Durand
What is as free as a view or a song over
water? A voice reaches out to be taken up
by many--control of electricity has
now ended. Nothing like roundness will do. Twelve is
suspension. Bend slightly toward four, but three holds.
Not understood by time. If zero toward wholeness
is one, punctuated by five, then nothing like
roundness will do. What is as free as a circle
and what were free but coastlines and a park? Zero
accumulates toward increasing restriction: it
is the nature of nothing to become something
complicated until it is overthrown by
a process still being worked out. Playgrounds
are improved and available but located
in places adjacent to the institutions
occasioned by water and air’s necessity.
I have a small group of friends and perhaps a few
followers. They care about whether I watch dark
lights splinter on the horizon. The ways they stay
are many, but they are always there, listening
and silent. Keepers of sound who absorb into
color--black. A color made of sounds. What
sounds did black absorb? Or what suns? Because nuclear
explosion makes such trembling noise space would divide;
perhaps that’s what happened at the beginning when
I thought I was once alone. But when detected,
a diaphony of frequency high and low.
Depth, thrown here, to disappear into threnody.
Rotate and tilt your viewing object to control
appearances--lose, in process, the photographed.
Shrub shaped by sound and spacious city, the sonar
topiary and hibiscus. Glittified. Now,
lights on all over and more than perceptible.
Floods which objects with definition, order. They
are still here: shadows in the windows, the corners
no high glare can obliterate. As the world falls
and soft plastic claims our obdurate fleshy cells,
the eclipsing melody’s strains amplified by
water, water in turn amplified by zoom, tilt.
We live by a river, after water, before
the hydrogen optics combine with air and what
the child writes in chalk is not an abode but a
request for chemical hydration. Close enough.
Waves come in bow shapes and erase footsteps, castles.
Temperatures drop and you did well, really well, on
reading the skylight arches patterned across faces
upturned, watching. Gray is the emotive spectrum
of windows in ceilings: that sort of light washing
down. Almost illuminating a thousand night
conversations. And outside, an orange sky.
Combined, we together join accumulation.
Society, snow, sky, ashes, dissipation.
A heartbeat powers bus across city, engine
ticks over inordinate and passengers nod
at each other in civic agreement: we are
open with each other and express opinions
not always our own, but still expect respect in
place of violence. Span of contribution places
transportation upon tracks, rails, radios and
telephones. I see from here you traveling to
and from, back and forth, lights caught in fluctuation
and moon casts what seem sorts of shadows and between
your face caught in steel, bolt, physics of suspension.
The question is once caught in an equation will
we release ever again onto water, wave
and sine. Landfall at a tangent and the third side
invisible further on horizon: waves of
three, gathered water: the moon crests, impossible.
Ahead of sun, moon. The largest mirror and close.
From it, we see a constellation of mirrors,
solar lacework, elliptical song, doubles and
trios. From supposed earth association
it is hard to be accepted as abstract or
seen. Body, appearance, apprehension, against.
To offer to you network, roads and ongoing.
A park is built upon; parking and watchtower.
A thousand night conversations, but only one
listener, one listening post of reflection.
What is as free as a view or a song over
water? A voice reaches out to be taken up
by many--control of electricity has
now ended. Nothing like roundness will do. Twelve is
suspension. Bend slightly toward four, but three holds.
Not understood by time. If zero toward wholeness
is one, punctuated by five, then nothing like
roundness will do. What is as free as a circle
and what were free but coastlines and a park? Zero
accumulates toward increasing restriction: it
is the nature of nothing to become something
complicated until it is overthrown by
a process still being worked out. Playgrounds
are improved and available but located
in places adjacent to the institutions
occasioned by water and air’s necessity.
I have a small group of friends and perhaps a few
followers. They care about whether I watch dark
lights splinter on the horizon. The ways they stay
are many, but they are always there, listening
and silent. Keepers of sound who absorb into
color--black. A color made of sounds. What
sounds did black absorb? Or what suns? Because nuclear
explosion makes such trembling noise space would divide;
perhaps that’s what happened at the beginning when
I thought I was once alone. But when detected,
a diaphony of frequency high and low.
Depth, thrown here, to disappear into threnody.
Rotate and tilt your viewing object to control
appearances--lose, in process, the photographed.
Shrub shaped by sound and spacious city, the sonar
topiary and hibiscus. Glittified. Now,
lights on all over and more than perceptible.
Floods which objects with definition, order. They
are still here: shadows in the windows, the corners
no high glare can obliterate. As the world falls
and soft plastic claims our obdurate fleshy cells,
the eclipsing melody’s strains amplified by
water, water in turn amplified by zoom, tilt.
We live by a river, after water, before
the hydrogen optics combine with air and what
the child writes in chalk is not an abode but a
request for chemical hydration. Close enough.
Waves come in bow shapes and erase footsteps, castles.
Temperatures drop and you did well, really well, on
reading the skylight arches patterned across faces
upturned, watching. Gray is the emotive spectrum
of windows in ceilings: that sort of light washing
down. Almost illuminating a thousand night
conversations. And outside, an orange sky.
Combined, we together join accumulation.
Society, snow, sky, ashes, dissipation.
A heartbeat powers bus across city, engine
ticks over inordinate and passengers nod
at each other in civic agreement: we are
open with each other and express opinions
not always our own, but still expect respect in
place of violence. Span of contribution places
transportation upon tracks, rails, radios and
telephones. I see from here you traveling to
and from, back and forth, lights caught in fluctuation
and moon casts what seem sorts of shadows and between
your face caught in steel, bolt, physics of suspension.
The question is once caught in an equation will
we release ever again onto water, wave
and sine. Landfall at a tangent and the third side
invisible further on horizon: waves of
three, gathered water: the moon crests, impossible.
Ahead of sun, moon. The largest mirror and close.
From it, we see a constellation of mirrors,
solar lacework, elliptical song, doubles and
trios. From supposed earth association
it is hard to be accepted as abstract or
seen. Body, appearance, apprehension, against.
To offer to you network, roads and ongoing.
A park is built upon; parking and watchtower.
A thousand night conversations, but only one
listener, one listening post of reflection.