Imaginary Elegies of Reality:

“Poetry” 2010-11
Prof. Rowan

Logomachia

Consecrate then desecrate the whiteness of the page:

a film noir murder scene
erases - replaces
and fills in the blank
with sacrificial crimes committed in the name
of the Verb, upon this stage.

Traces of logomachia inscribed in lingual debris

struggle sans origin, sans end writes the script
from which I read
voicing and enacting my ownmost role
in this parody
of "liberty."

Silence, Spirit these words away (from me)!

Sacred lines written in secret and in silence

can only be dis-connected - fragmented
by all-devouring Time.
Never erased - Never effaced,
but by the turning page of History overturned
whence, without recompense,
white sacrifice will ever recommence.
Secret Agents Desecrateurs

A sacred conspiracy of secret agents desecrateurs

effect a luminous profanation
of the divine dark night of the soul
heir-apparent, a shadow government
the shortening shadows of the gods' sepulchers
abandoned-forsaken
and exposed to the failing, fading light
of an exhausted sun of man -
- Enlightenment
The light of Reason extinguished
will never dispel the shadows
of dying fugitive gods
on the lam from the relentless pursuit
of vulgar g-men on the payroll of our
most profane and prosaic desires

For the luminiferous profane

in their pursuit of a track at once eternally hot
yet already growing cold, yet harbours this fugitive
The earth unchained from the sun, hurtles toward and
grants new life, imbues our psyche with burning desires

And such desires drive toward a scarcely perceptible, perhaps imaginary end
An end illuminated by the pellucid light of the faculty of imagination

Shadows play upon our theological hangover,

a hangover but once surpassed, in vats containing the end.
Our theological hangover animates our world with signs and portents
upon awaking that glorious morning after
That morning which came hard upon the heels of that night
during which the divine underwent autolytic self-dissolution
Our agents of desecration, our exemplary humanists, dissolve the divine
In the moment they make manifest the dementia of the superannuated divine.

Upon The Altar of the Real

Words
could have made a world
could have been a world
Being
in modal Plenitude
Essential, eternal solitude
in a becoming of worlds
Words enduring
would bring forth a world
becoming real, would have made a world
(im)possible worlds
-- not one --
rather a limitless multitude of worlds

How many have now ceased to be possible

meeting with identical ends
Both festive and funereal
worlds sacrificed upon the altar of the real
Our Suspended Moment

We never recoiled from

the brink of this suspended moment
Never sought solace in solidarity with
the solidity of the past,
Neither in the soporifics of a foreseen
and thus forsaken, future time
A future forever stillborn,
a future never to come -
a doppelgänger time-twin
of a past from which it is impossible to run

There is no time we do not traverse

This suspended moment -
- this absent present without presence,
which is our proper home.

We are enjoined to envision our future

through the lens of this fleeting paradoxical present
This present-not-present
-Neither absence -
is that lens through which
the light of the radically new
can penetrate the depths of our hearts

We will never recoil at the edge of the future's abyss.

Rather we walk suspended upon wings of a moment, on wings of time,
And upon the far side, the openness of an unforeseen, unforeseeable future...
...into which we walk without care
with eyes at once clear-sighted and blind
(blind to the torments of the ever-present past)
Rupture

Unawaited, unexpected
Rupture
Introduces, interjects
A moment of anachrony
Shatters the continuity
Reintroduces the autarky
Of originary temporality
In a change of epoch
Heralding the end of the reign of tyrannical chronology
And reduces words to silence
For their capital offense:
Imposing linearity and homogeneity
Impoverishing experience
And making of time
A commodity

A Revelation of Eternity

As time decelerates
and grids to a halt
I grasp infinity
and I apprehend eternity

in my static imaginary

as pure presence
in an enduring present
Not gift but the given
all time as a charity donation

to eternity's paralyzing revelations

Our Temporal Pretensions

The wind at our back carries us onward through the ages,

as pages from the book of life
turn, come loose and take to the air
In heedless flight into the vastness of future reaches,
in accord with implacable Chronos, to whom these owe allegiance

Through and beyond our horological disputations

we glide upon winds and wings of time
Ever onward, without the comforts of beleving our soterological proclamations

How did we dare give measure to the measureless?

Ennumerate the uncountable infinite?
And enclose with prophecy the boundless?