Poem for August 1

August 1, 2012 § Leave a comment

fissure plural,

fugal, your deficit and prize in another’s unfold;

or relocates “true” pain without seeking your permission —

as a thin pain in your left wrist will stubbornly remain

.

in its response to a threat, the fissure you imagine —

page folded backward from black type. The brain folds

a fixed gaze, may stray into fog or away from the withheld

.

that made me love you more. I took your hand and mis-

placed it in pursuit of “placing it where I could finally see it” —

deep separation of frontal lobe’s fugal error

.

always probing some other’s gaze. Music was (is) depth,

a true vein in the rock you are backing into.

Fissure equals the chasm of your mouth’s clean longitudinal

.

embrace, its flaw inherent in the brain’s connected folds.

Not about cure. It has the structure of overlapping duration

but the fugue, being a compositional device, is

.

contiguous. Stepping away from perfect pitch

pulls silence around you. You sing

“I acknowledge the plurality” — as if talking to yourself.

-Kathleen Fraser, from movable TYYPE (Nightboat, 2011)

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