By Julie Flanders


We live in staccato continuities

Ignoring the space between the infinities

That rest between the stagger of pulses

Moving to please

Feigning choreographies

Ignoring how ill at ease we are in our biologies

With the spasms of uncertainties

That rule our timed signatures

And mark the keys in which we sing


Are we creatures of meaning

Or sense, creatures even of anything

Or random beings, chance atoms

In collisions of seeming meaning


In a vision of divine intelligence


I don’t understand any of what you have said

He smiled, how could you, and shook his head


I wonder if there is anything better

Than spinning around on the beach

Arms spread

As wide as you can reach

Turning your body round and round

And round

Until you fling what is left of you

Onto the sand-dusted ground

Allowing the spin to continue its illusion

As you lie still

In the mind-body confusion

Of memory


I remember him

That way

As a strong sensation

Like the smell of lilacs on a spring day

Like the salt

And the dead sea creatures—

That scent—

The ocean’s rich spray

Of frustration

With no way to convey

What he meant


Are we earth-borne or heaven-sent

Is there sin in every thought

Should we repent for being who we are

And how and why

Did the whole conversation start

Was it ever really

One dense star-exploding blast

One sneeze of cosmic ever-ness

That could not last

One everlasting flash

From which we all sprang

Into this illusion


He spoke his effusions

And I sang


And when the bells tolled

He was the one for whom they rang

A rich and unforgettable staccato









About octoberprojectmusic

Julie Flanders Marina Belica Emil Adler
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