...

it is t h a t moment

the one

when everything changes

precisely when
one first realizes
something lost
is not yet gathered up
into that twilight state
of unexpected folds
and the innocent fog of it
that paradoxically presents
a particular kind of clarity
that rushes past eternity
while standing still


the third eye of the poet
is a box of time,
is the passional embrace of language
all stirred up
into linguistically percussive concoctions
that fold the solidity of words
into intangible beams of light
that effervesce the power-to-love-without-getting-lost
into a
white wall (of signification)
and a
black hole (of subjectification)

white wall black hole

and

art

"is only a tool for blazing life lines" (D&G, ATP)