Wednesday, May 6, 2009

TC: Doors

A love that is not pardoned
But burns the hand that touches
The wind
Tears her form out of the corner
Something presses me her voice
Across the sea a light is lifted
A woman walks to the edge
Of the mud in the street clinging to her packages

In the car of the sea these rusted shapes
Take up the night with a music like stone
The door will not close
Smoke The cotton
Stuffing of the room
Flatness under my feet walking around the room
A weight on my tongue
The stone fenders are close to the water
At any step you might fall
Things are going badly now
Nothing swims up through
The metal that holds the muddy flowers

There is dirt in every space and a cold wind
Comes off the sea
Pleats of the bedclothes make a hole in the light
A dirty shadow on the door above your head
And the wall bends up losing you
We go at different speeds
Side by side while you sleep

It is grey ahead where I am going

It is too hot
All rooms beat constantly
Something is the matter with the doors but no one stops
We rush through the joys that were there
The same weight of confusion leads me
To pick up everything I find
I turn this over in my hand and find you
Your hands are behind your head
Forming a grave on the pillows
Reality only listens when your words are true
How much longer can the door be found
By picking strings
To a chamber where a vestment
Never speaks until the door to the other side
Upward through the mud to the spoons
Has been closed
A chorus of swine lets loose
In a grey corner the rats continue to sing
Most of this is useless
An insane need for genuflecting
The night flaps
I stand at the edge of you
Is there a switch to be turned
To end this bluff against music
Which outshines the diamond in the slush
All of us wanted to have
Are there green parks where bicycles still glide
We sat on the hills quarreling
As you undress the perfection
Of hair marking each part of you
That seeps down through
This maze of pictures
I carry like sections of cloth d’or
In ancient paintings there is a duel in which
There are
Wings beating in something like hay
Beyond which the mystery is encountered again
She replaces the packages under her arms
And walks through the door

5 Doors (1): Gerhart Richter, 1967 (Museum Ludwig, Cologne)

1 Door (Test-piece): Gerhart Richter, 1967

5 Doors (2): Gerhart Richter, 1967

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