Recipe for Increase
Move the pen
and move the paper.
An eye moons, jealous
of its emptiness.
White is always else.
Substrate of what we’ve seen
Alba in the eye’s tongs
held beyond us into the light.
Waking is more like falling
asleep, she said: seeing without the stuff
but how the shapes can spin, low growl of
the hollow maple, where owls come from
voice. Other buildings where we seem
to know, bulging through the doors
of things. Their B, their house their eager
pursed lips.
2.
The more I see
more room there is.
The language of things
on its way somewhere
I can almost see enough
to see.
3.
Logic of the angel
we never get to meet.
Carrs roll uphill
people in delis
something else
where somewhere else
stays. Sunlight in Kolwoon
manufacturing fakes;
the big girl
in my little dream.
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