47. Spilt Milk

and was that book also for me a dead end

bouncing amongst the angled moving traffic?

back at the cafe

language carries on

courageously against

music, machines

spilt milk at last

to share

coming & going

uncertain as mice

What is desired, for God’s sake?

What is to be made of your silence?

What is worth being made memorable, and how do you get it?

Chi fa falla, e chi non fa sfarfalla

the sense of a common movement hangs in the air

to be caught by our voices together

– a privilege, of course

“The very taking of chance inserts us into time – into the present. To take a chance is to enter the moment in relation to it – it is, as musicians would say, a matter of getting in time, a matter of being with it.”

Hejinian, pp 374-5

drenching & grey

the hidden within

rises up

    dangerous ridicule

     spilt

OK then but

do you want to be the poet

    or the poem?

“I can only say here that a poem is never ‘THE’ poem

but only a small fragment

    of an infinite calculation”

edited Neil Pattison, Reitha Pattison & Luke Roberts, Certain Prose of the English Intelligencer (Mountain, 2012) p 118 (“Extracts from Letters Received”, letter from David Chaloner dated 1 May, 1967 – The English Intelligencer, p 335)