Monday, October 7, 2013

Tabula Rasa

Imagine, she says,
a world without burden,
of memory, sense or skin,  
unharangued by language or history,
the leisure of the unsortable experience.

Imagine no schema more complicated
than living ever after 
the reawakening to windchimes
each morning, 
clanging beneath the cold of a smug half-sun,
the sparrow singing somewhere near,
the fog of morning on the windowsill,
and you
with no thought of what any of it might mean.

tabula rasa shaken smooth in real-time.

No memory beyond tenderness
No future beyond wonder,
No language beyond joy.

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