…and now it does seem,

great Mother,

that you are upon

a slow Autumn

the final season

of your full life


the flock you nested

has long since flown, confident and vivacious

into the bright Summers

which your careful Spring-raising made True

of six 9-mooned Winters

resiliently carried through


there are now birds of those birds

nests inspired on those you prepared

the multiplication of your first work, speaking its success

reverberations of your Love, unabated

still spawning seasons, Summers

thriving on the essence of your light…


…and so, indeed, as much as it may seem,

great Mother,

that your body has turned on you

and now terminally sheds and folds itself away,

the spirit and truth you have given us to fearlessly fly on

can neither fall nor whither, but prove you, immortal.

Culinary (Part II of the Arts & Sciences series)

a soup is water made with something


the making of something runs like water

running into the possibility of water


the water possibility of soup

is a soup possibility of water

and therefore for the there-for

so much more:



is water watered down,

water also the difference of soups

the key ingredient to their ingredients being key…


water is a bowl-floater

a boat-floater

bowls, boats

bounds, bonds


footing soups


and the understanding is


watered –

as crystal clear as yet more soup not quite as runny as the water…


water-made something

makes soup

and “water” in name just as water-made


touching the water scoops it ladle

comes out too thick

too made-up –

Ironically, too watered down

too quick

to constitute the in-definition

of under-standing…

to show up the world



the collected spoonful

and subsequent spoonfilled collections

(in fact any spoon is just another collection of spoons)

a sort of liquidity


too mixed in the coming

washed up, washed out in a going

on the shores

of a gap-wide bowl-full contactability

a “watered” eroding

gardens to the flower of the im-permanent

more keys


in a water that tells us something about everything

but not everything about something.



by the night

Come by the night

Come by the night asking

Come by the night asking for


An exchange


An exchange

by the night



Come by the night asking


a water-maker


a soup-spinner


by the night asking

a connection-dweller


a fate-delayer


The night asking

a light-retainer


a life-explainer


Come by the night 

Come by the night


by the night



a love-availer


a lozenge-sharer


by the night








a hope-restorer





and come



Come by the night

by the night

the night

asking for…


Your exchange.

The fundamental shift of fundamentality

the argument that starts in the in-decision about the right thing to be said

and the right ways to say it

so long on the tracks of generational station-calling


turns into arguments about what has already been said about that

what those sayings mean, stations been

whether they themselves had any answers

and what they might be…

and yet, further to this

calling-station of station-calling

and de-railing altogether

asking questions of the being able to say

and of the how to say

insofar as these two episodes are concerned

railed and derailed

both of them are inasmuch indistinguishable

as still issuing-from as making-issue-of one and the same issue

the actually sayable

a mere change to the pattern of the action from which it is repeated

from talking about talking

tracking the attacks

to talking about text

attacking the tracks

and that is all

Appendix to the centre

intention to attention to intention

prescribes a transition, describes a revision

like square to rectangle made

back to square, to be squared out

and the question in there is twofold

return square can the rectangle made be squared with first square? that is, is there any squarable likeness even despite square to rectangle made? do they succeed in resemblance?

and return square again can the first square be squared with rectangles made? that is, is first square reconcilable with rectangular spillage, at all? do they have any future together?


question one is about success and shape, a reaction of space – which is ultimately about impossibility

question two is about possibility and belonging, a reaction of time – which is ultimately about impossibility


all squares to rectangles come into squared revision

squared revision is also rectangular, of course

but in difference there are differences

and some possibilities play alongside impossibility a lot better than others

(more spillable in ways that let the freedom of spillage keep spilling out thereafter)

some squares are more rectangular than others.

in transition, in revision

movement is about describing that difference

and making sure of it.

The centre

Rectangle is a square landed

redoubled in effort

training in motion

trailing itself

caught up in a ridiculous self-tease;


a square of the utmost cared-for a priority

does not yet matter

but dropped

it starts to matter

at once more and less relatable

more and less stable –

rect-angles step out, tile down, the floor


intention and attention

writing and reading


square is before floor

rectangle on the floor

neither of which fully pictures the other

neither of which fully opens

or closes

the door of their exchange


the door

upright rectangle, ajar

a draft –

of the elements,

the most aware

of the slim enough –

to slip through:


squares to rectangles made

and rectangles cutting up squares

in ex-change


intention to attention to intention to attention

squares to rectangles to squares to rectangles

all of which some of themselves and some of the other


how very triangular

even to the point of being able to throw into doubt a distinction

and the upmost angle of cowardly triangulation

again, the door

not fully open

nor properly closed

unsquarable, rect-agle upstanding waiting for a meeting

un-started so un-finished


that one day it will happen


so, “ajar” is the possibility

of possibility

that is,

the seeping draft –

the back and forth momentum

of squares spilling rectangles

rectangles chopping squares

neither fully themselves

neither properly the other –

describes a movement caught in the action of its own possibility

recounting itself to itself as it happens

that is,




there is no lock

but locked into an uncertain transition


how very circular

and yet square

and rectangular

and triangular, too;


the light that glows between the door and its frame

like the draft

and the exchange

also seams


with a motivated quality

the fundamental square root of all this (the) un-met.


like from like with me

with me

the sea might call on the sun with me

me-me with me

and the sea might count the nights with me

seas with me

cease with me

sun-seen scenes with me

sea sun­

sea son

sea sin

with me

sea set the sun set me sat with me

with me

sitting with me

setting with me

sinning with me

sands sent on the short side of sea-under-sun with me

with me

coastal with me

it is beach with me

contextual, all that and all that with me

a mess with me

from me: the-desert-with-me with me

have to count the numbers of counting with me

and only desert me with me

and so a lot and then almost no one with me

and then the hope is days long with me

underwater with me

and over the top with me

crystal-ware dolphins on the mantlepiece with me

nowhere with me

contradictory me with me

me with me with me

and someone else not me with me

but who wanted to “me” with me

be with me

“me” more than me with me

seas with me

cease with me

of thirds with me

many many threes with me

meeting me with me

about meeting people with me

me and those people with me

sometimes more than me with me

but always more than me with me

whether people or just me with me

back and forth in population sizes with me

with me

or not with me

many many with me

many more with me

trees with me

on the seas with me

ceasing with me

me and not-me with me

me and me and not-me but then again me again with me

and all that and all that and not at all with me

yes, all that like not at all with me

but always me

with me


with me

Zero conditional

desire properly speaking

cannot be stood up

cannot stand down

cannot stand itself standing

but has to fall


if walked straightline –

footprints left behind

like impressions made by a hesitant movement

second-wanting to retrieve itself

to go back as well as forward –

this is not desire properly speaking

desire qua desire, this is not speaking properly



properly spoken

cannot plan its own route

cannot map a way out

cannot break down to itself its own breaking-down-into-itself


if it wants

if it burns

first burning more than it wants

then wanting more than it burns

it has to fall into its own wanting

to be led

and bled

by that groundless motion

the only way to turn

not back

not even forth

but spiral

down into the emptiness

of the fullness

of an unconditional



properly speaking,

falling by a properness that would make speech itself fall behind the falling proper –

indeed, to a falling that, spiralisation, strips the single poem of the singular originality proper to the cosmic Poetry of chasmic Desire

the latter, itself not a poem, nor a series of poems, but the Poetry of a voice

unmoored and unpersuaded

by the ignorance of certain types of knowledge that, level, are just

more distance in disguise

a falling-back

onto a familiarity

that keeps us too familiar

with a certain idea of the self –

in other words,

in words that cannot keep up,

spoken properly,

and so without preface, recipe or annexation

never to let oneself fall behind the falling

but to fall through

listening to desire as “the desire to listen”

wanting to hear it properly spoken

which means never being able to speak it properly oneself

but let its limits outnumber one’s limits

without safe return, head first into the fire of the roar of the world

and thereby vitalising it

inasmuch increasing one’s own volume by, part-taking, increasing its volume

to let that be the case

mounting the case for that to be the case



is desire.

A single matter of life and death

life brought

by the rush of blood of two

egg meets seed,


from there on –

meeting adjourned –

is life

bringing to life

the turtling

day by day

one way


experience of death.


Consciousness would be the giving to death a face.


Politics doing

grave-yard provision

grave-yard setting

grave-yard management.


Popularity, based on fashionable headstone mineralisation

but with everyone knowing true beauty to lie in the 6 feet lying beneath all of that.


Which also means every discovery taking us, each time, about another six feet further into something than before


ever more precise digging tools

ever more floorless hoist technologies

ever more permanent writing materials.


Where doubt and guilt are about second-guessing 6,

whether or not 7 or more

or 5 or fewer

would have been a better death-depth for the rest eternal

after all.


And the religious debate hole and epitaph symmetries.


And the philosophers kill time by wanting to know how possible it is to accept life as the experience of death whilst sametime affirming death as the death of experience

and the most encouraged amongst them take up the question with chaotic glee and say:

if no other experience than life itself

then no other experience of death than life itself

no other life than this dead-end dead-ended experience of life itself

all experience dead-ends in itself

which, surely, is fatal enough to constitute a definition


with the addendum that:

life as the experience of death is probably more about preparation

for an eventual meeting

since life is already, and death is on the way

the way-ward differentiator

so more about preparation than an undifferentiated state of an ever-dying same –

and does this not indeed look a lot like the patient waiting for something to happen of everyday life, after all?


(Death is what differentiates life.)


And the scientists getting along best of all, tracking and tracing everything in its deadest form, its most buried state, inert, building and refining a corpse of knowledge more and more suited to the prolongation of death, with arrogant apathy demonstrating just how far out six feet can walk, cataloguing how widely and untidily death can subsist, at all the temperatures in all the darkest and smallest places.


And each of them with their own expectations

their own exceptions

their own thoughts on the death of life


Politics full of killers who only differ on deciding the most appropriate way to let the people die


With the popular always giving death a lively quality


The navigators heading to uncover the graveyard of time, histories of the dead and buried, new routes to the roots of burial site historical experience

for there are collective forms of death which likewise lose consciousness in cadaverous form, mummified form, collections buried away in their very own archives of decay


whole cultures have to be buried,

their subterranean arrangement setting and resetting present graveyards

and future graveyards, too


once declared full

the graveyard itself gets buried


The religious, in turn, believe that death is the same as life but without any more death


The philosophers become failed poets


all poets are failed philosophers

about learning “how to die”

though every time

in the teachings they leave behind

always end up teaching more than they ever meant to


And the scientists are all about death by delaying the death of experience

a special sort of slip into the fatalism of the world

never quite managing to match up the experience of death with that which gets deferred again and again by the pursuit of its knowledge: death itself

experience (of death) is their key word

leaving something out



the scientific touch murders with every incidence

life without death

is life without life

the deadliest of all


too much of the scientific

a sociology repeated unquestioned

would eventually leave life and death experientially undifferentiated


(of all the different nightmares of nothingness,

immortality is both the longest

and thus the most disturbing)


but no one will ever have their own way forever

but everyone will keep making it their own way for all time to come


But above all, there are the people who are all-in-all some of all of these

and some of none of them

who mourn despite themselves

and who mourn because of themselves


but above all, they mourn the death of those whose experience of death never reached the age of wisdom

the death of those whose experience of death never aged beyond its first experiences

those who fell below lonelier, poorer selves than others given the chance of a matured death, a knowing death


young death gives the experience of death an uneven darkness,

gives death a very sombre scale of differentiation


but the cultivated death

on the other hand

pickled alive in the positively bacterial

marinated awake in timely putrescence

the least mournable of all

the one thing that should be celebrated

a death that knows death by the time of its death

whose terminal experiences have had the occasion to look back and look back over and see and acknowledge the triumph of the decay

the glory of the finished and the temporarily postponed death of the unfinished

and watch everything, whether in memory or through wisened expectation, die all over again

one more time

as if only finally now staring fully, squarely into the eyes of the face of death


the moon of experience, finished, ready, ultimate

to eclipse the light

life and death together, at last


under one and the same breath


this is Death that must be celebrated

since it is Life able to be celebrated,

the closest ever gotten to a proper meeting.