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

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

leaves trace.

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

this relationship


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.

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