Monday, July 14, 2008

A Poem Constructed by Re-Writing Writing on Marlene Dumas

An Act of Seeing as with
The lost practice of ecstasy
Almost never makes a point.

Ever-evolving you never
wade in the same idea twice
But to focus on the difference
strips out the indifference
and once clearly stripped of its meaning
meaning goes waiting.

Suggesting but never confirming
Perhaps the group is
A common disease made up of
Endless descriptions of color
Explicit bodies in identity
And kind descent.

Some are known
Some are not

Some are believers
And some are pilgrims

These are the ways
To many small burials
(“I am who does not know”)
Obliterated birth
(“Because, in death, one is permitted to see”)

This is a concealed post-mortem
Hidden by careful beauty
(the text cleverly becomes the Author)

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