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By Ali Date: 2007 Jun 08 Comment on this Work [[2007.06.08.09.35.16081]] |
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It's all in the consequence, the shrinking way in which you smile, a collage of confidence, a deceptive breaking where you resurrect some long-forgotten mile: somehow, it comes back to haunt you. I could grin, Cheshire and deceiving, as if I couldn't possibly care what becomes of you, of me, or this golden circuit of ghosts (just another captive in this reckoning), but I step, stealing, only to dispel some pocketed despair: how clever your grasp is slanting, in this obscure, falsely demure, prayer. Now, I walk in old miles, treading in somehow-sacred difference, the dissonance of desire raging, a stage we knew before--only the apparitions vary, like forgiving hymns pressed in the pages of a wordless book. But I have always harbored trespass, a depthless capacity for creative destruction: I know many names for it, conjuring endless faces-- and if I can, I will break this, split apart this inside-out deliverance looking for your wayward reprieve. But be careful which fire you take me for, because some sparks defy you, strip you, and undo you-- only to prove that you can believe. |