I see what the wonder
is
—is the wonder what
sees in the wander
of the watching… we
again
have been here before,
the same tree swayed
toward we in the
hour’s music—
strong
hold the rhythm
was, and is… the
silence explains
what absence is—
heavy, a worded
need the bark’s rough
-ness feels like the hand
of my leaving—
absent
stress the confines
of it, the break
from hope noted
of it… on return
a
morning expanse
finds in movement
the truth of it,
a death perceives
movement
as
cultural sleek
forward engage
-ment, a slur
when
light is the clarity
of intrinsic trust,
posture of this
light imbues the
absence
waiting within
the body and
branding it
alive
alive as more fractured
than more so fraction
of what we eventually
inherit,
a
comatose sleep lures
and indents this
music’s longhand
drawn
hour… positioned
near where we go
in toward, a faucet
turns on
announcing
motive and the dance of it
leaves the body
bare
but unbroken—
sustained devotion to life’s
qualitative
understanding
Of this Momentum Song (thirty-three)
_______________
Life is not what one lived, but what one remembers and how one remembers it in order to recount it.
—Gabriel García Márquez
Postcard sketches: land
-scape theme, myriad
sameness toward
a
moment-capture sequence,
an artistic hand
-eye collaboration, theory—
bene
-ficial scale the
early morning trumpet
expands and
awakens—
theme is totality, is
theme of language or
function of the mind’s
small
exploratory figments—
experimental forays
the body twists to
adhere in the swell
-ing
of removing past
participation, to envelop
what is new in these
rhythms
and acute paces
hands play in the
purge horns
throw
through the tunnel
of which light
pulses in the caus
-ational pause re
-begin pleasure
the
body finds in nearing
age of determined
splayed
circular
inheritance of the civilized
permission… we’ve walked
here and found what
here shows our
tired posture
…the
timid cycles
readying our
upward anthems,
voices
play the “cling”
and stays—
relevant
Of this Momentum Song (thirty-four)
We wait in our walking,
walk into what
wears this hour’s waiting
noise,
concurrences
of sound.
Syllabled
knowing,
with sound as knowing
an echo is resultant
stone-ripple
harmony.
Privilege. Alive
is the announcement
each morning
assembles
among tongue and
proof
the hour rotates
within choired
hands Song
rotates,
spins into splayed
ornaments this
flame
evokes
and
understands as
foundational
mirror
inversion looks
to impulse,
to interact
with
entering. Why the
oval resonates
on itself and
selves’ versions
the numerical
comprehend—
we’ve needed rest,
examine the good
honoring what has
held
us. The way
these colors
exist in opposite
blends from the eyes
erasing clichés,
a
downtown voice
pulses to live away
from what
finds
connection to bone—
a pivot exterior
to night’s
x-rayed
prose and
decomposing sections
of
reinterpreted
diametric
philosophies
Of this Momentum Song (thirty-five)
Blow with doing
so
as does the
trumpet’s
variants
below
premise: called
in all listeners,
mobile meeting (we keep moving)
textured talk the
language
rotates atop our
decisive tongues, petrichor,
comfort
finds our lyric, we
devote the body to
speaking certainties,
sporadic thinking
underlines
what our horns
compose, provide.
This
is the catapult
function we’ve
known about.
The
exterior stride hands
contain, lyrical mobility
we always confirmed. We
can piano here, should.
Praise
be to the whole of what
we’re going into, to-
ward; and thus
to splay is to behave
inward to the
space needing
no more optics
than
fade or asterisk
performs in
how the hands
hold
our language-
s. Tomorrow we
can envelop a
tranquilized anthem,
the mode of it steers
how the eye outlines,
understands.
Nothing
is neither whole nor
fractioned, the foray
to become is to hold
tacit reinventions
when
the body only
sees within
the
spectrum
of
its organic
insinuations.
Of this Momentum Song (thirty-six)
Tumult, we
praise around it, as is said
what we call
music the crow
renames water—
extract
in the pleasure
sequences each
mouth searches to-
ward, in the
hiring
of body to blend
hanker with
warmth of
finding surfaces.
Offered
what finds us (renaming)
what searches to offer
in the meaning
of it. Song
knows us, knows
of us; we’ve a buried
harp in the way
voices color the air’s between
gold, gold as does
the hand give into
affection’s role
to
invite. Sway, the
mission adheres
to the tongue of
what holds us…
from
when we begin, from mothers
holding the small
of cries, the smallness
reveals then too,
the deliberate need
to thread what is human
what
human holds to ident-
ify each portion of bone
naming our
momentum’s
intuitive meander.
The unsayable
says what died in voice. Paused
invention. The water
from
where the crow
names
its premise, we’ve pulled
the harp from where
our hands need flamed
succession,
we continue, we
perform courage into
what calls to
praise in the hearing
of
the halo awaiting—
our Song is our going home…
home as where the body
never bends to a
dissipating
motive
Felino A. Soriano’s poetry appears in CHURN, BlazeVOX, 3:AM Magazine, The National Poetry Review, Small Po[r]tions, and elsewhere. His books of poetry include Vocal Apparitions: New & Selected Poems: 2012 – 2016 (2016), sparse anatomies of single antecedents (2015), Of isolated limning (2014), Pathos|particular invocation (2013), Of language|s| the rain speaks (2012), Intentions of Aligned Demarcations (2011), In Praise of Absolute Interpretation (2010), Construed Implications (2009), and Among the Interrogated (2008). His collaborative collection Quintet Dialogues: translating introspection, which features visual art from David Allen Reed is forthcoming from Howling Dog Press.
He publishes the online journal Of/with, and is Multimedia Editor for Unlikely Stories Mark V, and is a contributing editor at Sugar Mule.
Visit Of the poetry this jazz portends for more information.
