dire

The Double Star"I longed to arrest all beauty that came before me..."-Julia Margaret CameronI.i will write, but speak... not a word;all voices annihilate.you will not have to pronounce the 'I'which becomes life itself,an abrupt enlargementand severance of the sentence.if the existence of othersmeans the existence of you,then everyone else must die,and so must i,and in saving youfrom such imprisonment.i will speak not a word, and swaddle you with quietudeso you cannot say 'mother' and mean it.(the traceable identity divides and threatens,we look at each other -you kick and i shiver).so inescapable, this language.i will refuse you such inheritance,you cannot have it.so weak, this language,it denies all possibilityof unity.but come back to me, anywaywithout admitting you are not me.i will hold you closer,closer than words can determinecloser than they can fit betweentwo entities or even one.i will write becausei have learnt the waywords betray;how they draw differences where there are noneand make it altogether impossible to say certain things.words have their own secret passagewaysof principles which we live by;axes and axioms,language is a ruin we cannot deny.though i am already engenderedconcrete, with an obscure coreand a hidden artthat language cannot impart,though it is beyond my conceptioni will write you out.i will not call you.but i will hold you so close you will cease to exist.do all mothers dream thus... and resist?II.half-remembered couplets come, and touchme between my tired eyes; they bring suchcomfort as lines can bring. some slighttrembling of the clock awakes the night;i watch your image flicker through the screen...how long has it been?when this morning you left me, or last week,(or is it centuries that cling to that bleakmemory?) i thought it the sightto become a locus for all loss: the lightso particularly angled to set your facewhite and clear against the blank abstrusity of space.('the end of the world', a simple phrase to use,to send in orbit through my mind... to refuse.)perhaps i am glad that you have fled.now across the realm of your foreheada dozen dreams a minute might blaze and falllike empires of old. just your smallhand at her heart, and in her a tiltof the chin, an abandon the world builtin such short space, just thesei witness and arrest; a short-hand repriseof human history that none, now, shall read.my albumen in a sheer shell; you recedein the great exodus of double stars.i cannot tell you from this spawning world which marsidentity so flippantly. (the days come and goshall i dress you in scarlet or indigo?)the heart a cumbrous entity to fit betweena life and a love, both so keen;your heart that first broke the perfect symmetry of cellagainst cell, leaning right like a knowing infidel,your heart that led the birth of every traitaway from its initial regular state,as the birth of the universe created matterand asymmetry, and finally life, fashioned aftersuch a small chance. My alpha, my starling,i write here as all is ending,i cannot speak, but write and write,though none will read and none can right;what more is there to say, and how to deny -the world will evermore be a thing to kill us by.</center>it is not how i imagined it, when i thought it up half a year ago. but for a desperate underachiever it will suffice.i want to write in a language that disallows rest, that disappoints expectation all the time. i want to manipulate language while disbelieving it. quite disillusioned, nevertheless.apologies, dear girls. i miss myself also!but i have a verysmall resolution: this year i'm going to make a zine of short stories! i am!