feel notes 102 / to emerge as thaw

How far underground do I stay? The noise on the surface is a blanket I don’t want to emerge from — the sound of the emerging spring thaw.

The extreme noise of change — under the soil, under the ice, continues — under the visible — where thaw embodies revolution.

Calibrate preconceived beginnings — as old ones already separated, territories under the visible. Division looks at language as visibility — especially that letter ‘d,’ such a break in the phoneme.

I suppose I should discuss how text becomes liquid — to capture the current condition — but I don’t want to emerge yet. This is not the spring thaw — to emerge from. These notes — are noise to emerge from.

How that ‘r’ looks at ‘m’ to form mouthwords that might become something one day — emerge from something — to know you can.

The docile cocoon — does not replicate or witness the world — to engage in it.

I’m locked into what engagement does. Thrown into the sight, of what counts for duty, what counts as an engaged being — as someone allowing not just a world in — but out.

To unemerge is to unthaw — how difficult a world, first of all — to unlet
what holds in.

+ note — this is not their world — a world — Pro-verb encounters assassin — at these notes, these feel notes, at the border — of sinew and affect.

Pro-noun encounters engagement at the checkout line — where form forms form — how lineage keeps appearing in my thoughts, over lockdown.

++ note — if there were a visual to support my feel — for that combination of ‘l’ ‘k’ ‘d’ ‘n’…I would conjure for you, something of dystopia…but I’m all I got right now.

+++ note — this reference to someone real, affected, by something real…as if culture could remain cataclysmic in nostalgia

What is our dystopian reference for dystopias gone-by — but lockdown. As our current anthropocene-as-lockdown points out — there is a chieftain guide among the others we flame towards, the others we shine.

The others we lock, to our mirror selves — affected as mirror duties — weeds to purpose. Our mirror purposes — these notes have taken a turn.

I should here venture into equation — hybrid affirmations of what can’t be explained in one form — as another becomes divergent, enter photosynthesis of light-emitting-reading-surface.

Pull back, shall we, from the carbon footprint of all this space — taken up by a poem’s stance — the jump, from line to line, from thought to implied thought. Rendered ideation as blocked territory — what happens when you can’t indent from the edge to isolate your stanzas.

Your form, the one you envisioned, on a page you envisioned, controlled by your vision — to be seen by someone else’s, to enter someone’s edge as your own.

To be marginalized with no punctuation — empty space, dared to be reasoned with — by the reader, beckoned — by a visible language still buried.

If sentences were, to me, how I traveled — I would have turned, by now — imposing clever jumps, between riff and raff — mirror weeds.

++++ note — where was I

the weeds from early / morning and life
to replicate the host / self and body
to imagine what is there / differing opinion and obsessive betweening
that can be their food / air and connection
how big they can grow by the food of their neighbor / empathic and impure
to pretend as is now / level and far
to realm in need / verbal and local
to impulse the passive resistance / being and tending
of photosynthesis / eating and sunfood
the grander ideation of martyr / resist and swallow
of semblance / chroma and come
to engorge the borrowed hum / tongue and listen
out of its pulsive rememory / will dim in sight
I smell the passive burnt of lingering flesh / for its entrance
green obsession, singed operetta / take off — to use rage
as inner

+++++ note — what am I writing on, about — what is the effort of language in midst of itself. To record, witness, portray, present, establish — these minor inconveniences called punctuation — a mirror for a larger reflection, a pro-self.

To rise in a myriad world — a solar breath engaged — to be tumbled by consonants, is that where to join in?

To be pure in fastened form, to be labeled obscure — by the shelving of freezones, the shivering of ozones, seared into retina — mirror pro-self, the gassed obviosity, a napalm biscuit. How dollaring the wake, affects the pool.

The seller’s morse code, engaged in noise — spring noise, under the roam of a skin torn tank — and here, applause for the ‘s’ ‘k’ ’n’ before those heavy ‘t’s — alloyed metal, the wash of rendered solitude — a biscuit for the grifter — these notes.

++++++ These feel notes taken —
during or time, or leave, or die
or take, or singe — what was borne already — of semblance
to gash, as certain-sky, certainly or, to certain, of or
by existing the what.

And there was pointing, and trying, and saving
and all manner of newly re-centered thaw
as thaw.

And I came back, out of my woke — to address
what the writer’s point is —
— to bring in the reader’s.

What is the melt, on my list
of things to do, of what to say yet — of how to stand
spine’s indifference, posture’s lifeline
what is the melt, of doing
left, of or, to do
of how — to incinerate an Ice Age
— by the extreme noise of Spring.

Doll cocoon, unwrit — as want — among the ruins of an unlikely hero…is that what the current operandi calls for, to be unlikely, by being?

To allow unfreezing — enter semaphore, by glock sift — enter apogee, as my notes…feel with me.

There was a pointing, and a trying, and a gifting — towards layered ambivalence — towards terrain, lightly metal’ed by direct hit.

++++++ note — how scatterscrawl riggers genesis — softly gotten by end-of seekers

If I show how I share my process, will that get me into more process — or will I keep evading my emergent self — pro-merge — to initiate the zephyr’d deep?

Cycle’s refrain — implodes equilibrium out of some inner vocabulary.

What am I cowering from — safe in my hut, on this side of Gelapagos, my morning grift. What am I on from, of or, or or — about engagement, was this about the written savior as delapidation — as chromic integer?

How far underground
these notes — unplanted, yet of
in the or, of similar heat — my melt

unplanned for beginnings
yet — all I have.