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Carefully is why anyone
articulate in stained white night-clothes descried in the face of one who
wandered a series pressed absolutely. A foundation strained by slumber. A
moon not night or near to new. A language dormant and bound in rasp of
night’s dismantling.
Any series discerned carefully
thus begins or forms an absolute beginning. Where moonlight in its coming
call to forming senses no longer uncommon lights longer. Where cropped in
beginning night's dim grasp beguiling glints come copper and comely. Where
newly found beginnings carom there in wearied air. Foundations bound and
stitched in series' absolute violence and blight.
No longer do nights linger where
a longer light lingers there. Their straining in the very prison where their
violent letters bind us with lawlike fathers and inked tongues. Now there the
how-so facticity of preterition opens to a slumbering anyone the dormant and
elided languages by which the face of another founds itself together with so much
as any one of us.
One object come copper in cropped
red light's only nothing. Neither resemblance begun nor signifying nor only a
becoming-syllable. But implicate in any coming face it composes a language of
objects and entities as such.
Carefully
is why anyone traversed the waking volumes of these unuttered tongues. Why in
sifting ashes broke a violent peace its coming descried in old and scarring
airs. Why anyone sang when time abounded in an implicate opening a music
taught by heretofore untaught speaking. A language mounting shining to a
singing in series of its own.
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Andrew Cantrell is the author of the chapbooks Phantom Equator (above/ground press) and
Stratigraphy (Finishing Line Press).
His work has appeared in many places, including Posit, Lana Turner, Black Sun Lit, and Rust Belt Chicago: An Anthology.
He lives in Chicago where he works as a union organizer.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
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