I'm happy to trace
The rim of your glass
Now absence
Now presence
For the ring of openness
To something larger than black hole
As operating principle
You speak now of "ethics"
A-gnostic at best
In being conscious of writing
As "endlessly empty echoes"
How one should refuse connection
With others
For such would efface
The endless recursion
Of self
Against other
Returning to nowhere
In an endless eccentric orbit
Back and forth
From the void
It yearned for
The arrival that never came
In favor of a poetics that breaks
The illusion
Of infinite deciphering
And exposes thought
As continual erasing
In the face of the distances
That stay intact
Past all incursion
For passive writing that does not refer
Beyond itself
Un-marks difference
In an "echo of desistance"
To "expose us from the presencing of being"
Thus refusing
To be part of a whole
Or an individual voice
Or ballast for growth
Somewhere else
Unknown
We must acknowledge the futile impossibility
Of our labors
The need to write
Against itself
For it exposes our lack of relation
In words
To even ourselves
As if all our hopes
Of being understood
And loved
Must be crushed at the outset
Lest "truth" be allowed to be refused
By something larger
So the openness freezes
Like a preacher's trick
Serving emotional truth
Before the dogma
There is only darkness
Not at all like space
