from dowsing axis preverbs for Robert Kelly
by George Quasha
from dowsing axis preverbs for Robert Kelly
1 comfort folly
Reality is the line where rival gangs of shamans
fought to a standstill.
Robert Anton Wilson
You never get good at surrender.
It’s tough quitting our fiery skies to fool around with Persephone.
Impermanence inconveniences permanently establishing passing
value.
Life slips not without standing outside itself.
Message hides inside itself say like the whorehouse crouching in
mind back under.
Fire in the lie about meaning brightens.
I take refuge in a heartbeat.
Separate sentences comprise current aspirations talking this out
of me.
Foolish food is nurturing unknowing we can’t keep a name on.
I’m just dancing in this particular hot tublike St. Vitus horizon.
Take picturing off edge as how you hear yourself coming and
going.
New linguality is failing to regret in time.
Being born asks no other permission.
I lose my edge as a matter of opinion.
Dying is the sole apology for sustained happiness in troubled
times.
The timely torque comes between us and no one, and where else?
Garbling our undertext corrects when we run the horizon.
2 lumen logo locomotion
No pain, new frame.
There’s a discipline of mind that reads all sides at once to live
double.
When a god is bored you get us.
Writing thinks it’s in eternity, so.
If we knew what moods are for we’d know better than life being
for.
Self goes beyond my version of itself listening from outside.
Heaven is a with liking unrequired.
Not trying to get it right leaves it open for the other right now.
There’s a ghost of meaning between.
The syntax off edge rises to a kick back.
Why always posing contrary listening when anything said turns
on itself by the end.
Crisis of faith is short for weakening syntaxis.
The standard for poetry telling why it does what it does is mind
studying mind.
I’m now clearly a prisoner of preverbiality constructed for calling
itself off.
Bright heavenly haven of disciplined dissolution is a species of
faithful holding.
The eye fills lingually.
Time of line is a horizon of seeing meaning. Stretch on over.
Rhythm is true written into bone.
Horizon reading is where all reality is falling in line on the line at
once.
5 [de][re][com][struction]
Life teaches setting out saying one thing and ending up saying the
other.
Why a thing wants to be like and liked reaches into root mystery.
The on high chews us through.
The thing seen sees through me.
By grammaticalities in a conversational mix you can know
yourself strange again.
Lingual valence goes by winds in the kinds.
The sky is falling is the order of statement that comes down hard.
Lingual violence goes through minds in binds.
Always always limits.
The house of being caving in on itself is a syntax.
Self can’t bear being too new non–stop.
And now the epistemological need to slip into something a bit
more comfortable.
The other side of the image retains whispering history.
The poem is out of hearing.
Coupled lines tell on each other to no end unrecorded.
Acts are true facts.
Finally the picture falls through itself warning on eye contact.
Language learns grasping light yet textured to the touch.
Once other never other like lines of sight in and out of phase.