the unknowable transforming point 126/130

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

The little chink

The thought arose that it was all go
time to go then
this ravel unravel
unravelling unravel
now dense as the ravel
the denser the ravel
the slow motion unravel
first a sound a resonance a question
a tone
a shift or change of
is there room for the little light
enlight me
little space for a lighter
unlight the space
lighter than light
in the core of the cross
is the little light
lighter than light
open an opening
a little chink
the chink

The longing

Slow motion chink as tender light
soft candle less flame not flicker
just as steady chink
a drawing to intensibility
the light that was always there
the longing long unravel realisation
an apparent absence
and facing of the thereness of it all


A piano
I saw it
thought I could play
sat there
learned to play
thought I could play
I saw it a piano
a piano I saw it
thought I could play
sat there learned
sat there
thought I could play
was it a piano
a piano
I saw it
thought I could play
sat there unplayed
I learned learning
sat there played
thought I could play
I saw it
a piano
the learned making friends
with the inner pianists
there was the one fragment
the piano
I see it
I sit there
thinking I could play
the learning
I sit there
thinking I could play
I see it
the piano
I can play
word play
sound play
inside out
the piano
I see it
thinking I could play
thinking I could play
words play
the piano
I sit there
write through
write through
right on
it gets better
it flows
and it follows
the piano
and the thinking


As I scribble

Somehow connect vibration of the pencil
through the wooden table
as I scribble something briefly
and what if not
looking about ahead
in front of that I will get better
or what
means the present is lost
so it’s a process of losing identification
slowly the pieces removing unmoved
better to see today being itself
itself holding a pen running out of ink
as it skates across a page with lines
convenient grey lines and margin for error

No terror

The day is the day
no terror is likely
getting about this pencil of mine
swallowing the ink smell and ink miles
tracing travels over word valleys
and someone word weather willows
the start
the middle
the end of the period
from some minutes
or whatever it takes to write the dangerous dubiousness
uneasy habit of drawing conclusions based on
drawing (art open creative)
conclusion (end fixed)
to draw to a close
the day drew to a close
however less miles now
as the pen is really running out of ink
must get more pens when I’m up there
and that will be that
it scurries
it’s scurrilous

Picture this

It’s getting near dark
till the stars will not show through today
as the sky seems quite grey now
next door light in the bottom left of four windows
silent street and piano plunge
picture this
I fill the page
I start a nine
starting at nine
finishing at ten
writing most days



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