Tautology of Western Involution

Feet can’t seep the street

keeping to themselves

they rub but never meet.

 

*

 

Overhead lines run

into grids. Wires

dim light. Guide

empty lids

into dormant lips

 

*

 

Homes and horizons, labyrinths

whose walls never converge

 

*

Recharge the battery,

replace the light bulb,

switch the filament

with its firmament,

return electric

to being-

Permanence

will shed its skin

*

The barrier of this age

but sedimented mnemonic

and the map work made

over the ever changing

*

and the wringing inside our heads,

when in the eyes no one responds

is but despondence to our thoughts

and words, the-would-be exchanges-

conversations birthed born

to exhaustion,

dust

in settled bitumen

*

The answer blockaded by the question,

an art we condition, dilate

and disillusion.

A cigarette we collect, conflate

and regret,

Until bird shit splits the egg,

clean in relief,

Offers smatterings of essence

on a consciousness put to sleep,

And the grit stuck between the teeth

are words you feel, but never say:

Language is a civilization

under pavement,

People are cities

feet teetering beneath steeples-

trees twisted and configured

to our latest loss of meaning

Dreamers of galaxies, but victims

of singular visions

*

 

Short sighted

in night blindness:

our wires dim light,

our lines run into grids,

guide empty lids into arid lips-

 

fissures, we keep, but never heal