In Progress

                                                         An infinite logic
                                                         undiluted by form
                                                         a bit of a question left
                                                         on parched lips
From city dweller to countryman
                            a thousand bells
                                       tolling       bits of memory
                                       a unique presence     schemata
To make something is to give over
                                                     left with a bit of
                                                             a question

This is instinct
   listen to the rain    outside
   or else your face split 
   apart entirely.  
Asking why is your order
 granted in the midst of this chaos.  
                                         (as a 
                         border under pressure of doubt, as a border in question)
Then suddenly middle-aged
   from end to end
     veins spread thin to be so enamored
If I think        views
                                          It's never where I
                                          'd like it to be
It's hard to conceive of this 
in English     borrowing from myself
the sentence setsup  dynamics of power
        by necessity
        thirst   hunger
                                          Into that disordered
                                          field,    a word alone
                                          is every word or
                                          something similarly situated
This is insistent
        a promise?
        a negotiable suture.