Upon this other flesh
Meanings and thoughts I tear at comprehending
It is not thus
It has green forms
Sprouting in series of almost imperfect circles
Ellipses unfurling indirectly towards the sun
At angles in an interior sky
It vibrates with consciousness beyond my reach
And this closer animal
With its warm long hairs
And a gaze that knows and shares
A lick transposes to a kiss
I assume that the message is the same
Even my second tongue
Is grasped in simple snatches
The language of my body answered
Whilst I struggle to guess or to define
What may be in your mind,
What we may be:
A species of structural beams and decorative objects
Expressing never more
In ever more complicated ways
We cannot twist like vines
Produce only from sunlight
So we name and regulate and call it
Morality, law and common sense
Moving and growing
Folds and shoots
Ever linked, ever sundered
I’m unsure if this poem is finished, but perhaps this unfinishedness in some way reflects the process of attempted, always advance aborted, language between types of being, that I am trying to capture, reach or (and?) think through here.
For my paid subscribers, this week I’m giving you something of a philosophical object poem, about domestic life; my dog is the linking thread here.
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