Monday, September 2, 2013

(Untitled)


An electronic summon
comes from you,
unaddressed.
You already forgot my name?
It could smell of stale roses,
I imagine,
and still grabs my attention
like your hands used to grab my genital.

Your summon,
unaddressed,
I can't decipher.
Is it in codes?
Is it all truth told, but told with a slant?
I stare at the screen,
at this summon
that calls me nowhere
and asks me to do nothing.
Cage would say that
nothing is something.
Maybe he would say that
nothing is everything,
because nothing is a blank slate full of everything.
Maybe he would know what you summoned.
In his letters to Pauline,
paucity bore promises,
and ungiven promises intrigue.

It's intrigue your email causes.
Unlike Cage's letters written on paper, full of touch and personality,
your impersonal summon on this electronic media
keeps me intrigued about
what it could've smelled like,
what your handwriting would've been,
and what you would've said,
for lack of all those in this summon.

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