The same and the more, as breezeblock and cladding, so is the construction.
I pile on the impossibles and this crude build becomes a delirious cake
blunting all knives
cut by one
Construction of the same and the more, it is called Upper Reach
and the cake not so sweet.
The action between things is force and force
This tracing outline becomes solidly categorized. The pushed and resisting
thing. An illusory solidity of many things, Martha, Martha
your many things
the harried in between apt to darken and dim and press
There is a flat floor for our building, the same and the more.
There are some solids so entirely empty
but a resonating frame of possibilities.
This is terrible, the accumulated absence of matter.
And this the secret freedom of stuff.
Freedom is the most terrible thing. Such terror is not
to be feared. It, it and things, absence and rarely proper
names, none of the above can every enter a soul.
Let us suggest the soul is a bell,
never penetrated but sometime struck.
All events resonate across this quivering skin
only as the bell allows.
The most lucid chiming rings free even of freedom,
that terrible thing, it rings out clearly releasing
moment after moment,
stillness in every movement.
Things do not enter,
actions pass, and from within the empty
between brings a great shining.