29 June 2018

Postcard 132

No glass on this beach washed flat. Only sand.
And no fires (see above). Only sand -- a broad gleaming tablet, gold and blank.
My bare feet are cipher markers. My new stick marks lines.
From above my cipher says I walk upright, I'm curious.
My line says I lean a bit to one side.
I strike out an image much larger than me with stick lines scrawled sharp and deep.
My vision, too, has a bit of lean.
My image I can apprehend, but only from one side at a time.
Who can see my lines are straight? My shapes are true? And of course, the tide returns.
The waves step broad and light, strike shallow mark as clear and flat as glass.
What did I say, what did I say?
My darling, I have etched upon you some of my memory
-- some scratched light, some punched deep. A good apprehension of me, sidelong.
And the waves slip back under themselves, then the waves slip in.
And my darling, I have etched upon me some of you, memories from just this side.
All in all we are together overlapping scrawls of wave washed memory.
Oh my darling hold on to me. Oh my darling lost like glass.
From where you are, can you apprehend I am slipping out to sea.
The cipher of my footfall, wave-washed, points to sea.

21 June 2018

Postcard 131

Use this, use this. Where is the right tool? Anything! The sharpest blade grows fastest dull. Useless. Understanding, careful caught, dried to knowing -- sand in hand. Use this, use this. Every problem has a hammer, right? Beat together to fall apart. Every hammer needs a handle. Beat apart to glass. Use this, use this. Glass blown. Glass glows. Glass grows like hair. Brittle words. Brittle words like fragile birds in air. Use this. Use this. What carries light and sound? Light of load and sound of structure. Scratch line with white hot nail -- pain-etched scratch-raised light and pale. Scars, stitch-bound and suture-tought. Use this use this. Every wound is lesson learned. Every hammer needs a nail. Every pane is pockmarked. Every hand holds fingers. Every finger holds its nail. Every hand is hammer-ready. Every word is frail. Use this. Use this. Lessons shatter out like veins. Every scar is pain once taught. Every word was once a flutter of desire contained. Every shard of glass was once a million grains of sand. Every hammer blow was swing of arm. Use this use this. Where is the right and proper tool? Every tool was once blood carved sharp and bright, the truest, light and sound. Useless. Useless.