“It is wrong to assume that art needs the spectator in order to be. The film runs on without any eyes. The spectator cannot exist without it. It insures his existence.” - Jim Morrison
a spectator, in forty dreams
travels, reviles destiny
intimates the dead. his
eyes are absent
& peopled
with their own
white-hot undoing
the moon is flat. a flock of
angry jack birds soars
over moist vegetable fields
a mandala
a woman, more like water
begins in the shadows
breaks open the germs of desire
on both sides of the screen
the road to the sun is motionless
a feast for trumpets
rushes forward & populates
the empty spaces of
galaxies
post-vision
post-destruction
[this distance, we accept]
now that i’ve warned you
of the violence of space
between images, intentions
[enormous]
this blank music
& it crushes me
The Used Life 
8 responses to “This Blank Music”
You don’t stop experimenting, L, and that is very positive in literature. I think this is a fantastic fragmentary, deconstructionist and polyphonic poem from the most radical assumption of corporeality … But don’t pay too much attention to me. You know that I am very often wrong.
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A “fragmentary, deconstructionist and polyphonic poem from the most radical assumption of corporeality”? Wow. I don’t know if I’ve achieved all that, but I thank you for your exceedingly erudite commentary. And, to be sure, experimentation is the lifeblood of creativity, n’est-ce pas?
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Oui.
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Your captivating poetry deserves its own genre. 💖
When reading your poems, I see the most interesting and artistic movies in my mind’s eye.
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Thank you so much, Michele. 😊
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Always a pleasure. 🌻
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There is a lot going on in this poem. It’s wonderful. I’ve already read it several times. “post-vision /
post-destruction” That’s really interesting to try to wrap your head around.
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Thank you, Bob, and I’m happy you found this worth reading several times. I think there’s a great deal that can be said about the contemporary spectator. Perhaps I’ll address the topic again.
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