logic & care

And when you cry, it will be plain to you (will it
Be plain to you?) that the lament of the sea is its
Longing for the riverbed. The fashion to hold on
To curated falsehoods will not lease the pain, nor
Will empty metaphors climb out of a sink-hole of
Vision; as if that is what metaphor is wont to do,
As Language will want of you: to set off noun against
Noun. That language has passed now; the will of the
River is aghast with the possibility of meeting the sea.

And you choose to care, to build upon the greetings
At bleak of dawn, and to care, to sit at the riverbed
And yearn for rain. To laugh with air mocking meaning,
Making way for verb to sing with verb. To pray with
Fire so that it flickers the stain off frolic’s fabric and
Eats the ghost of the east and stares and stares. Each
Atom of wanton play, a thing of reason, of care. To not
Unchoose reason, to sift, to blur, to mix with soft ghouls
And meet the story at river’s end: flow greeting flow.

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