20171230

Tom Beckett



  Tell me again
Through the curtain

What I’m
Supposed to feel

Tell me again
Through the certainty

You feel what
I supposedly am

*

What we are

It hangs here
In the air

Unrooted

*

He appears
To be
A she

It works
For them

*

An “I”
Embodies
A void

Until “You”
Are
Filling “Me”

*

Violence can
Be silent

*

I is
A hole

The dent
In identity

*

Tell me again

Who we are

What we do


Why do

We do

Whatever


*

Doubt runs
Through its
Explicit capital

Time’s not
A name

Desire laps

What goes
Without saying

The eyes
Have it

*

Tell me
Again about

Shivering in
Your shadow

I forgot
What you

Told me

*

There’s something
To be

Said for
Footnoting titillations

*

Desire is
Not designed

It occurs
Among things

Written only
As punctuation

*

It occurs
To me

In the
Midst of

Things to
Ask what

Did you
Say again

Got in
The way

Of description

*

Ghosts leave
The waste
Of selves
In cocoons

Grammars
Rarely listen
To erasures

The format
Of a ghost

Will be
Found in

The grammar
Of erasures

*

Tell me
Again what

Writing is
That patterns

So disrupt

*

I’m allergic
To religion

But not
To belief

*

Tell me
Again about

When walls
Are mirrors

*

The sexes of

Shadows open in

A philosopher’s propositions

*

Does procedure
Equal rapture

An A
The the

*

Is it
Bodies or

Voices which
Most conflate

Parasite and
                       Ghost

*

The curtain
Between us
Is moving

*

One oozes
Into seeing

The dissolution
Of composure

The sounds
Of extinction

Unanswered residuet
Of questions




Tom Beckett lives, writes and will likely die in Kent, Ohio. His ghosts precede him.
 
 
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