art is myopia

 

all of art is myopia spillage into thought.

sensate stands in silence recovering,

while phenomenology 

has taken center stage.

the wherewithal 

of impressions is pleasurable,

but the registry of mentality as bottomline

is baggage in the memory-bundle to carry.

art is self in scintillation response,

beyond that, is self in registry to account.

I just want the initial pierce 

of the splinter-feel

and not the story of removal 

as my narrative.

I want the blush or the flush 

before the reaction,

to be where the dynamic exists in secret. 

but then in the rush of exposure upon me,

to be before the idiot light 

of recognition turns on,

before the assemblage 

of self composition regains,

to be in the partnership of existence

and not at the back 

of experience's registry line.

I want rain 

to be a gravity impressive response

to the rain, 

grieving it's earthbound-circumstance.

I want the marvel of wet 

to defy my sense of presumed order.

I want the current of life 

to pass over and thru me,

without gaining the status of being results,

to live into that isness

as the actuality and the beingness of art, 

to be on the cutting edge 

where the integrity of the blade-spirit

and the fabric of presence meet,

so specifically that no time passes.

no results are pursued.

nothing is filled with action.

and I am at home 

within the art of the all . . .