Valve

One possible inquiry :

what materials   objects   phrases   residues

are produced in this long act ( living   let’s

continue    call it that )     call it burning down

what’s harvested    what veins cut   flesh consumed

what roots pulled from earth     all’s a harvest  :

not yet finished     exhausting itself    life shorter

shorter again     same as feared     as expected

thinking always there’d be more          thinking

curse of intellect     anxious          a real question

all’s same when done some sort of residue   left of you

ash mixed pigments     remainder hanging fluid in air

perhaps a perfect closed text     place to be contained

witnessing I beg insertion of error     a fingernail     hair

gasp     no not that kind not so clinical     word

or shadow

an ache     that stars should have meaning of themselves

instead mean only what they mean for I     you

stain taking form of memory     in knowing     that limits you

each hesitation a refusal     draws a scar into the air

another piece fragmentary     sketched

between points of light strung out

one possible rule  :

speak no words     write no words    as if

any’s already understood     what could open you could

you open yourself?     partake and be partaken of?

could you empty       into I       even then

what evidence of this     later     of flood     what detritus

wasn’t ever physical left no stain

mattering most only sense     utterance     no material

water passing through as it    opens     closes