a sense arising in matrix unknows
Here I am standing in the mandala of her speech.
We lay together in the right place for the right dream to indistinguish us.
I fear no word will have an ear in it.
The moment comes to rub hands like flame.
Her soul cried her body into a tear.
The place I knew was a dream waiting to happen.
aligning on the move
A living line is true like a hand-made angle.
It gets out from under itself at every turn.
Words hold power. Spaces spread power. Times flow power.
Squat on the line. Not long along to have sat down. All the way.
When it moves you move. And vice versa or verse turning back meets midway.
You get to the underworld through undertime sliding down your axis.
starting now a world is coming into being
Have you been touched the way she said?
So you know nothing is ever the same.
On track the line chases the ultimate gap to the end of willing meaning.
Listening my feet exchanged intentions with the colors on the earth.
Provisional prayer: Request not to dissolve prematurely.
Retention by beauty—what always can never be denied forever.
how a word wants to be
Be wary on surfaces running deep.
An endless work is endless all over.
Is a line a place of incubation?
I would cross it to petition death: meet me half way like a friend.
Healing’s the whole in the hole in donut living.
When you first grasp a word imprisoned being releases.
bending back doubles the curve
…The life of feeling outbreaks….
Now for the next possible thought.
I’m pre-vicar of the vicarious who subs this wand for the last wave.
This line is my next world cresting into being—N.B. the point of disappearing me.
Emit me, said the angel in hilarium.
Hand me my torus, the fountain relieving.
The leaping god describes the tongue exciting between.
Bounding over a long lingual topos ends you someone further.
Time to write our autobiology.
This tracks the time it takes to think living.
All around things are proving their boundless importance.
People name places only to go another way.
Today reminds me the poet inside the mind is female.
Playing as if there is no wrong but only next.
The heart expands so far at long last it becomes itself.
The life inside is writing down.
Reading is the later it gets.
From afar she brings you news of yourself.
mind of many turns on its odyssey
Thought it, failed to write it, gone? gone beyond?
The slate clears as I move across—no back to turn to.
Impatience is the practice of wanting results and not getting them now.
Is thinking coming back around?
I follow the leaping god through reams of self-disrupting syntax.
The turn out is in the middle.
in the deep polytropic valley of appearance
I’ve been listening up a storm.
It tears the throat out of the trees.
When the time comes read the signing leaves.
You can only say what you see.
Crack! and the leap!
Midway in the journey of its span the core sentence is self-remaking.
Following a reading by Carter Ratcliff, George Quasha reads poems including Torsion Poems and preverbs (sounds right & things done for themselves), accompanied by axial drumming (acoustic snare with kalimba on drum head) converting the underlying rhythm of single-line preverbs into open percussive patterning. Following reading was the second performance of RADIO MINDS, including preverbs both on digital LED sign and sampled onto a Roland SPD, along with axial drumming on a Roland Octapad using 8 drum sets in sequence. (LED preverbs design by Susan Quasha.)