Can we experience texture from text?
First, Helen Keller famously touched
tactility, cool, viscous slippering flow,
next, Anne Sullivan pressed into Helen’s palm
the abstract signifier: w-a-t-e-r,
cuneiform, a proxy for the real.
Texture before text.
Can the smack of words,
written or spoken,
against eye or ear,
put us in proximity to the actual?
Or do words just approximate,
a sign for what is not really there?
Fox Hollow.
Rabbit Run.
Malibu.
Infinity.
A word sounds. Or in light.
We Nike fast toward sense,
defining the infinite,
sizing seized minutia,
ignoring the weight of whispers,
we wait for weightier syllables
carved from stone silence,
thrown hard against the inner drum
black signs wrested from white light
shoved with force against the retina
at lightning speed, ocular shocks,
the mind resorting to sorting
sound from sound,
syllable from syllable,
word from word
discerning distinguishments,
‘duck down’ from ‘duck down,’
four instants, for instance.
Attend, feel mouthed words,
throat-harp strings singing,
tremendous and tremulous,
tongue waggling rapid-fire
among the dangers of teeth,
bitten words sentenced to life,
cheeks full of shadows,
lip-shaped syllables,
salt drifts from word wounds,
bitter chases sweet,
sour penetrates logistical fog,
extreme pleasure dissipates
in the wake of analysis.
Wurds. Wirdz. Werds.
Why w-o-r-d-s?
Why not?
Words are wired —– carry current.
Vivify.
Mortify.
Words birth worlds.
Words take worlds away.
In the beginning was the word.
Also at the end,fading into silence.
FINIS.