—punchline from an old joke
As deeply as I might dig,
there's deeper digging below.
As empty as the space is,
there's substance in the hollow—
parley of vacuum and wind,
rhythms and their air echoes.
I am not here just because—
at least that's not why alone.
My flight of pitches and yaws
enrolls me, falling, twisting——
So I walk. I sit. My jaws
open gates of sound vectors,
my body of precious flaws,
my brain of texts of lightning—
and only this great wind blows:
to breathe what will happen next,
then to taste how I connect.
This poem, this interplay of words, is light as air (pardon the expression) and carries the visceral feel of currents of air, wind, ethers. It draws me to read it again and then again. It's touch, for me, is transparent, as transparent as touch can be.
ReplyDelete...precious flaws,
my brain of texts of lightning—
And I like the dance or interweave of 'below' and 'hollow' as they sit in the company of the image you chose.
Thank you, Daniel!