Wednesday, 22 May 2013

To Mary

your life, and life presented
make that claim
circumoral to the bad loop
charlatan in front

of us who charmingly delivers us,
you go, and finely
strain life out to the ants and to

rank subscription that amends.
by piecemeal
universal schtick your ankles
are still the same

ones you walk on, following a line, down
that claim is nothing like your life
or the same

world that does
lock instead
round everything that
still so patently,

for you,
obtains. you

know that, and come back round.
at back of you, grass and they
spill the air rips

over you love
nothing less, nothing
that claim
does not subtend, or claiming even
locks out

shit, that happens, so
that loop slides piece
meal into
the grass, and the ants, and the rain,

the whole professional harmonic
on his fingertip
partly your life cannot but
still you appear,

clouds bank up outside
the window of you
you do. you turn round
your fantastic face,
and go, destroying object
-oriented ontology

and hype,
and you
the air reeling away. 

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