Tuesday, April 06, 2004

Pulp, ground and crushed,
Rent through industrial processing
Bleached and treated, converted
By unconcerned intentions
Torn from living context, grains
Ground into new patterns
Water-marked bonded
Sliced thin and supple
Slate for whatever
The mind might conjure
Thus conjuring
What was not
By the natural vacuum
Of the empty page.

The artificial plain
A theoretical plane
Three points in context
Extrapolated into infinity
Yet constrained
By the rigid definition
Of eleven by eight and a half
And yet eternity glances
At an angle
Indirectly through the page.

Not a dream
Of conical projections
Or mathematical precisions
Or the processions of nature
But the dream-matrix
Of illogic

The fantasy of the empty page
Filled by yourself
The ambition of ego
Unconstrained by reality or rationed
Pragmatic possible nows
The future without the past
The past in the present's
Prismatic distortions
Dreamed anew
Dreamed right
All evils broken
By the beneficence of
Memory's wilful distorting

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