““Word Silence" There's a flame like the flame of fucking that longs to be put out: words are filings drawn toward a vast magnetic silence. The loins ask their usual question concerning loneliness. The answer is always a mountaintop erasing itself in a cloud. It's as if the mind keeps flipping a coin with a lullaby on one side and a frightening thrill on the other, and if it lands it's back in the air at once. A word can rub itself rosy against its cage of context, starting a small fire in the sentence and trapping for a moment the twin scents of now and goodbye. The sexual mimicry always surprises me: the long dive the talky mind makes into the pleasures of its native dark. Like pain, such joy is locked in forgetfulness, and the prisoner must shout for freedom again and again. Is that what breaks the sentences apart and spreads their embers in a cooling silence? The pen lies in the bleach of sunlight fallen on the desk, ghost-sheet of a bed turned back. If I look for a long time into its wordlessness, I can see the vestiges of something that I knew dissolving. Something that I no longer know. And there I sleep like an innocent””
