Learned from John Cage, Hermann Hesse and the Other

No. 1, Jackson Pollock, 1948

[No. 1, Jackson Pollock, 1948]

Learned from John Cage, Hermann Hesse and the Other

There is now no shedding it.

It is in you. In me.

Shifting, glowing, humming

like the core of a neon light. Or uranium.

And lime will break you, then me,

or me, then you,

down to gray-white powder.

Or fire will shatter me, then you, or you, then me,

to carbon, ash. Either way.

Either way we’ll have another life.

In dust. Settling on top of a wooden radio,

or a fine novel, among other fine novels, aligned on an oak shelf,

drawing others to fur there.

We’ll keep accommodating, shifting and fitting to each other–

it is our nature to accommodate, shift and fit–

graciously, now, no thought to my territory or his,

or yours.

We’ll have reached a higher place

atop the radio or novel,

in our dustiness.

We don’t complain.

We accept things now, we watch new

dust approach daily. We do not like them.

We do not dislike the. We let them fall

on us. We give in. We surrender to each speck.

Moment after moment our utopian collective

reconfigures. We know each other, we see

with our whole beings. We press our presences

into each other. We glow with vibrant life.

Our relationships burn with being.

Present.

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