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Wednesday, February 28, 2007

ROOM 1A of Cell 1A in the Recirculation of Eyelight

Never Unremember

they couldn’t kill you

the symbols shall remain
the terrible symbols
that will clash the centuries on -

memories of the squeezed hand
and human thud by dark wire, barbed,

both ways always, now
the music of red or

“blue blown up on yellow”

echoes like a cannon crack -

they survived, and each day
a child is born.

I say more than that:

it was
the because of me
and you and they
and the corridors we have sung in -

laughter so long ago
and now lip curve,
or a bright book, say of Louis Zukovsky,
his, an excrutiation of acrostic ecstasy,

and the concentration against
this mad possible in us all
he, the thinker, down digging
to tubers whose golden boulders
such gifts,such tallith truth,
such :life

and the seeding words

their gemmation as no other,
and this, built by other hands,
green as light, new-shivering -
and the lamb’s bleat
beating into the who and where
and what we are —

yesterday is todayed
again again and again

never unremember

Turn the human scroll,
turn the scroll - turn:
be it two hundred years,
turn, as Louis turned,his time

holy as eighty flowers

holy as child,

counting into time, counting.