all motivations
are stranded
in this dead
land
you can
run/swim
in any
direction
without
ever
being granted
a starting
post

the sound's
footfall leaves
an imprint on
fresh
ruled page
that has
complicated
textures
and small
asides of
strained breathing
i can see
smaller
particles
stir through
the relief
settle
and gather
in pools
at its
base

these swirling
eddies
spill across the neat
ruled edges
a distant
lo-fi
carbon stamp
of an
impromptu
tone
that rests
where my
left hand
would have
been
without
the cutting
winds

i am the light
removed from all
subtlety
i am the harshest
edges
caught folding away
for the season
for the evening
for the contaminated
glory
[of an
afternoon without
any sense
of
tone]

the wave of vibration
crossed from
port to starboard
-quietly dissipating
in the
perfumed cabin
air

-quietly isolating
all foreign
objects

quietly stretching
out
our finer
sensibilities
and rubbing
away
the most resolute
purpose
until all
future orientations
are set as
reflections
of failing
orange
hues

we are still attempting
to move forward
even though all objects
here
are dominated by
curved surfaces
even though our
motions
are deflected at the point
of origin
even though all
inertia
is aborted
at the moment
of commitment

we attempt
to move forward
when
all forward momentum
is obsorbed
by the roar
of diesel
engines

these seventy-two seconds
are separated out
by commas
and pressed
into a strange
axis

my cold hands
have been replaced
by these
warm
linear
carbon
utensils

the seven hours
that was given
to the
task
(dragging
my inert body
to the
doorway)
is now replaced
by
3

from the furthest
reaches
the darkest hues
are reporting back
-plotting courses
-savaging the senses
the resistance capacities
fail sharply
in the light of
compromised
dialogues

i could hold out my
palm to you
but there are no lines
left to read
as all the light
simply rolls off
-falling softly
into obscure
angles

the wave of
vibrations
lingered in his left side
as he watched
her pour
another drink

she seemed
-unaffected-
by the Gaussian
light functions
as if these were
incorporated into
her
reflexes

subtly deployed
counter-weights
to the
fractal edges

while i push forward
from my current
frame of reference
then the ideals
of [set] patterns
loose their
function

i am no air-
stop
i am more than-
just a displacement
of
sky

while i can
swivel gracefully
to the earth
then you can-
grant me
the independence of
dance

my enjoyment
of this day
is principled
and
aesthetically unadventurous

this is
good music
a warm breeze
on naked feet
and a slow unfolding
of tension

i am surprised
/delighted
by the direction
the sun
takes

i have presented
a carbon face to the
world
i have rubbed my
ideals rudely
into the mechanisms
feet

i have not
been held responsible
for my
actions
until these templates
were reversed
and the stories
told
in relief

my [carbon] expressions
are a narrative
set
of absent edges

we are navigating
via the trace patterns
of pollens
while
our noses
twitch and send
feedback
to
reference
memories
etched into the
grain
paneling

we hold our palms
/out
\open
to complete
the
descent

-we do not so much
fall
as fail gracefully
from the
sky

whereupon
our
noses
hit the ground
with a accompanying
crumbling
sensation

capillaries collapse
and
familiarity surrenders

....
another landscape
is laid bare
to the tourists
baser
instincts

variations of white
are awash
in the air currents
sliding over
taunt
canvass
as we purge
our navigation
systems
of outdated
technologies
[identity
relative position
and
temporality]
precipitating a dropping
sensation
[one is obliged
to accept]
in our
'modern' appropriations
of latitude and longitude

i am all
stabilized
now
while
all points
of the compass
are in deep recess
drifting
as a paper dirigible
in the airs
tides
folding into
scattered patterns
of white
noise
while the earths
magnetic fields
press its coarse
textures into
lobes of the brain
that quantifies
reaction

the dogs
have set all
responsibilities for
the day
inside a
limited
perimeter

in this
exercise/set
they are
modern dance
partners

they are all
hunches,swagger
and
aftfull
pauses

he came to
realize
(while putting
a pencil
back together)
that
the sky is
held together
by a
limited
number of pieces

reach out at just the
right angle
tap it lightly
and you can
make it
de-
-flate

[-For kemadrin: the composer (with jon7) of definite]

i am beholden to
the texture
of sound
crumbling
when it has no
where else to
go
but perpendicular
to the fault lines
of
fragments

when I find
such sounds
i will always
reach out
to run
fingertips
against the
coarsest
edges

-blurred
transition
stations
where cognition
is
raw
and
uncontaminated




[more of kemadrin's excellent music can be found here
or from itunes (as Secured Vessel) here]

the dirt on
her shoes
is a relative
ecosystem
that responds
to the fluctuations
of architectural velocities

that is why
-she tells me-
she
twitches
in the presence
of too many
right angles

this hour
illuminates us
all as we
stand
waiting for the
3:15 to
Dandynong
our hands
sweating
in our pockets
as we
brace our eyelids
against
severe
antarctic winds
and step
forward
in alternating
patterns
to stare
forward
into the abyss
that is our
accelerating
lack of action
culminating in
in
in
in all
but a
flutter of consciousness
that briefly lets
through the light
and resets all
our relative
positions
as a shudder
passes down
the line
of recognition
and universal acceptance
where
we understand that
3:15 is dragging us
further
into this night
past the faltering light
past all sense
of it
until all we have
left of it
is our
alternating dance
patterns