Wednesday, April 1, 2020
The Light By Which We Enter Language
Walking west in mid-February, bright Venus over the neighbor's house, as if being lost were a thing of the past. Remember when people had baby shoes bronzed? Remember photographs that could be lost in a fire? A lot of what we've misplaced is our sense that anything can be permanent. Greek pillars in moonlight, confusion about women's bodies, especially in sexualized contexts. Some men find a corner and make it their home no matter how lonely or inappropriate, and those men are my brothers: disparage them and you disparage me. A cold wind is sufficient manuscript for the story I am telling. People who opt for cowboy hats, couples therapy, extra cream with their coffee. Let no lampshade dull the light by which we enter language, let no map deny it is itself within the territory it describes. Some invitations go unanswered, some are lost in the mail and some open unto countries only aliens could love. A song is whatever goes on without us, may we all rest in peace. Worthington has spoken: now comes the luminous quiet, now comes the dark the light is up against.
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
Post a Comment