Subtraction— the game of the nature— accelerating...
Proceeding to the winter— magpies chirping around trees. Stopping,
they look up— the meaning of the picture, dark gray,
but not a panoramic view— not a drawing of
inner life. You are walking towards me, I witness part of the scene—
it represents a beginning— a dreaming state. Uncertainty.
The scattered reality suggests he is present, or he is not.
I separate myself. I cut a cloud— the dancing
romantic— I want it to wrap around the body of the ideal future.
It represents a choice, a disappearance of the self.
To join the reformed life— like a touch of watercolor,
an overlooking from the balcony facing the wind— the sunset, the birds,
the multihued mountains, and the running streams like mirrors.
I immerse myself in it— becoming non-existent reality— the linguistic other
— part of other people's memories— the feeling of time.
I see the existence within, like when I see roses, crape myrtle,
or butterflies, dragonflies— I’m saying they're brief—
I’m not saying anything— because I'm only using words— using them—
to build a fortress of thinking— now I'm in it
— I play with life— subtraction. The language snow
doesn’t cover, doesn’t shield— I face the world with a void.
