Were I broken, prone to
a vocabulary of falling snow,
limited, perhaps,
limited, perhaps,
in mobility or vision,
I’d still want this beautiful
world. Were dreams
liminal or prayers hymns
to light for intercessory
I’d still want this beautiful
world. Were dreams
liminal or prayers hymns
to light for intercessory
grace, I’d still
want this crippling pain.
Because love bleeds. Because
a = a means something
to linguists more concerned
want this crippling pain.
Because love bleeds. Because
a = a means something
to linguists more concerned
with the copula’s death...
The world impresses those
speechless few—waiting,
always, by the window.
The world impresses those
speechless few—waiting,
always, by the window.
[Steve Mueske, 'For the Melancholy' {based Man Ray's,“Lautgedicht”}]
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