Mourning & Modern Knowledge

Permutations of motion though matter;
the ecstatic union of void & fire;
    mutation arrayed
        in differential display:

    is this
use of language the only way
    for the feeling to fade
        & finally escape
            from my bones?

Can't I ever
go beyond what's here
in front of me
& reach the place
        I want to be?


Escaping the maze
is not an option,
so I remain trapped
    in oxymoronic structure;
the point
where concept concedes to content;
    when precision
        & all measurement
            reach their limitation,
but grammar still remains needed
for practical reasons.

Without language there is
no way to express
this sense
of frustration & unease
        echoing through me,
as I witness
    unbounded expansions
ripple & sway
when thrown stones
disturb the surface of a lake,
    in brief undulations,
        & sink
until they can be seen
no longer:

Nothing ever
disappears completely   
     or so they say…
but you're too far away
for me to care.

Even if absences
    linger within
        every presence,
there's nothing comforting
in that knowledge:

What remains of the lost
    is not enough.


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