Monday, February 23, 2015

Logic Distractors and Salvors

Of that that a rose's gyres and fetches bring to its contours,
Of roseness relinquished, I am apparition brought to you.
Of that that quiddity surrenders of itself, I am yours.
Someone talked of me, advised someone else to urge me to slew
My telescope to nearer aspects, and, scarce, I glimpsed myself
In the demi-plasma that surrounds the rose, and that would prove
To be the last allusion; and I take quinoa from the shelf,
And that will be my last meal, and I will till a tender groove
With my fork, pour in apple cider vinegar, and no one
Will see me swallow like a child; the last allusion to me,
Adamantine, the last allusion to concrete "whatness". None
Shall speak of me again.