in the
kernel ball spitwad seed
of my systeminstructions aka soulweed
there is no jealous yammer. not even a hum. kneel
ing lightly before liftoff, between breaths, i feel the curve of death
slice me in frozen airpuff in between. a guillotine of clarity. earth curve launch
es me to spin. before that. in the space between. my fingers float for nano. in deed,
all i am is this no-hum freeze. something keen and queer about the nobreath
nohum scene. you could not tell if i were faltering or in a state of piquante grace. i
brace for life, the way each breath is a womb, each lungfill a birth, launching me
out to life, a crisis of motion temporarily animating this ice queen sheen. i wait to
be returned to my originary still and silent clarity. i wait to be returned to what has
passed before this birth and what will spin my sky after i die, this serene. until
then, i keen in a quiet, elaborate parody, of living. underneath, beneath the breath,
sense it still, this still silent ellipse into which everything vanishes and from which
all arises. and returns. this no-rhythm rhythm of gift and release, i crawl back now,
in silent revery, returning too as a windless kite to deathless earth, a long smooth
slide back to birth. and before then too, before the big bang clang: the waveless
sea, the mirthless dearth. The emptiless reptile, the eyeless peak. The grouchless sunken path to breach. Before all motion, before all time, before thunder and
cloud and red dawn sky. Before all this, and after too, I swim in a waterless
eddy of leaking peace. Sweltering in tuneless shrill. Amorphous fog without any sense. I
lurch in the no-words-now-for-what-is-not
