SHOWER
It is the pretext/duty/charm of the hero to depict
their origin as unknown, or everywhere—
as if the name of a town would smash
that statue down. Streamers from the parade
that enlivened/knicked out/chiseled his profile still flicker around
its pedestal, their papyrus duplicity
[Needing martyrdom to live, I multiply
the papyrus duplicity of my hero—
duplicity is my hero]—[its numbers
always add up to the theme of the
Double [?] ] [ Outside the rain pours all fours
on the fields that spread like search
patterns but find only more of us.
Depictions. We might atone by
using schoolmates for our self
portraits, but otherwise remain sole.
Simplifying[singularity] is the word I need here
in the normal bleep-sense of its daily
use, a warning-voice evident [in its attempt
at censorship.] Oppressive enough, but
can you remove enough details to
make your life immune to autobiography,
[when all the words skipped by readers
make a better picture than one's own
narrative. The problem of the empirical—
the "crumbs of raisinbread in the coat
pocket," to quote Benn, the coat itself—
are unsolvable except through love of
the contingent, meaning the sacrificible,
the stuff you can easily throw away—
That's why the grounds out there are
surface of earth deep, why each of its borders
pretends to be elsewhere. Pretense is
[The premise of the hero always required
To depict his or her origins as timeless. As
Elsewhere. Distant as abandoned rooms
Narrating their cobwebs, relating to which
[ ] us to stride centerstage and gawk
Multitude-timeless at engravings passed
Among the lucky attendance that thrives
By dispensing shares of continuity that
Never yield spare enough for you or me—
Everything left out of the text is always
Too legible, the expository details
Anchor their disparities by spreadsheet
Tactics, the way amid raindrops we hold up
Our inbetweenities with an umbrella.]
Outside the rain pours all fours on
the fields that spread like search
patterns but find only more of us.
Depictions. We might atone by
using schoolmates for our self
portraits, but otherwise remain sole.
Simplifying is the word I need
in the normal beep-sense of its daily
use, a warning-voice evident, though
the old problems of the empirical—
the "crumbs of raisinbread in
the coat pocket," to quote Benn—
are unsolvable except through love of
the contingent, meaning the sacrificible,
the stuff you can easily throw away—
That's why the grounds out there are
surface of earth deep, why each of
its borders pretends to be elsewhere.
Premise of the hero always requires
him to regard his origins as timeless.
Abandoned rooms narrate their cobwebs,
time to stride centerstage and gawk
multitude-timeless at engravings passed
among the lucky audience that thrives
by dispensing shares of continuity
which never yield enough for leftovers—
Everything left out of the text is always
too legible, the expository details
lacking which the reader is forced to
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