Proof primitive:

That two sticks
              point toward

              stopped by its own measure:

              that, belated, uncalculated, yet
Shone as shown:

              version in in-

              pure statistic, imperative to stay
Past saying—

              ever fails
Before every, son & sun.

              bent intent.

Meaning word, missing a
             letter, waits upon a power within a powder.

All in thrall
              to what thrives
              as there, & its theory—

              as throw & throw, as mantic
Tick through unmeant Time.

Fallen letter, avian V, in-
              verse A.

Two parallels meeting at

Road eroded to a line—
             dark abstract stroke.


                                                                        for David Meltzer
Stand outside to know why.

Once, unknown noun, you had no need of the verb “to be” to be outside of time.

Nothing repeats, nothing is exact. To be exact, repeat your answer. A red letter, unread now, is curling through the air.

To appear (is) to be caught disappearing. That sentence (never to be stated) wants to advance into the future, but now is going the other way. Now can only vanish. You can’t stay here.

Time is not a container, but a point of contact. Because you & I have names, we stand in the way of whatever wants to meet here.

In the old book, all or nothing has a name. Most names seem ciphers for suffering. But words desert their owners. Unless, until, we track them down in the desert.

What comes first partakes of nothing; therefore, if we can grasp anything, we can grasp only what comes second.

These letters fell out of time: EIN SOF.

The wine glass fell slowly to the floor & shattered—soundlessly. The spilled liquid immediately assumed the shape of the universe.

Truth of mind over matter: an ant crawling across a page of script.

Why time? Why this rhyme of light with night, of first with thirst?

What last will will last cast backward to word? Because no atom is alive, but accusative to being—

(R)endings, (m)endings: the job of legend. This (s)ending of—

This sounding of, the anti-angel.

Say, unsay, snake-wheel, O noose of Gnosis! Unlikely likeness: no eyes no yes.

Count chance’s chants. To choose ruse as if to choose ruse.


Joron is the author of several collections of poetry, including Trance Archive: New and Selected Poems (2010), Fathom (2003), and Science Fiction (1992). Joron is also the author of The Cry at Zero: Selected Prose (2007) and Neo-Surrealism; Or, The Sun at Night: Transformations of Surrealism in American Poetry (2004). His poetry has also been included in the anthologies American Hybrid (2009) and Primary Trouble (1996).



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