First the verb,
then the subject,
then the need for a poem.
A type of Artificial Ignorance
Only this:
fragment,
sand,
remainder,
incomplete geometry,
pattern that doesn’t exist,
recipe without ingredients,
gesture without body,
flesh without animal,
paraphrase without phrase,
touch without touch.
The object words:
no, no, no.
Only stones.
Only bones.
Only dry noises.
The triad that gives rise to it:
paraphrase, flesh, touch
to the ground and the name.
texture.
dust.
flaw.
The imploded geometric liturgy:
squares in dust,
circles like cracks,
triangles without vertices
and like shadows of a form that no longer exists.
The evaporated expressionist delirium:
no fever, no stain, no scream. Only the mineral silence
of a meaningless text.
The poem, now, a remnant without language.
A body without a verb.
A pattern constituted by the non-pattern.
An idiocy dissolved into idiocy.
And the remainder of meaninglessness,
no purpose,
no axis.
Only presence without speech.
A text that does not exist.
