Stone's Source - Part # IV  /56

 

I do not choose to glorify

the inside of existence,

nor its surface,

or the hands of time passing

into midnight or across

other distances which also

pass and which do not come back.

 

I do not choose to glorify the

ways which ruin, in infamy,

predates experience, nor the

experience, nor the infamy.

 

I do not choose to glorify

all that has been left here

by the time of that instant

or the balance of its return

which is empty, or the way around

its return which is cold or

the way through its return which

we all fear if we know it and

ignore if we don't. That is not

worth the glory of one voice in

hope or the others without color

or shape. They do not issue from the

device of its form, and its form

is like that when it visits stars

or star-shaped stones, or the liquid

orbs of space, which is glory

               which is unmeasurable.

 

I do not choose to glorify

the colors in their spectrum,

the elements in their tables

the charts and their lists

of the degree of things, of the

steps on which walks intimacy, the

steps without which civilization

could crawl, or in it draw

rude approximations of surface

or texture, or the beginning of

those things....

 

                 And the ends also

are without glory, as the top and

bottom, as the sides which form 

windows, and the openings of doors.

For that reason I do not choose

to glorify the holes, of the spaces

between the human things, the unfilled,

the unwhole, without which we would not

be human. I do not choose to glorify

inner workings of blood and iron

or of spit and hair, or of wax and

carbuncle. They are the sting, the

glue, the hinges, and as such in their

thankless tasks, do not respond to

glory, do not take their salary

in flesh.

 

I do not choose to glorify

that which is living, any more than

that which is not, or which is without

or more is less, or in the transom

of those unfolding edges, choose to

glorify why that is so, or promise

when it will be better or worse or

when better and worse are neither,

just as they are now, just as they were

then, beyond logic.

 

I do not choose to glorify the pointed

parts which are edges, or the soft parts

which are not. I do not choose to glorify

without them, or because of them, or

in spite of them. I do not choose to

glorify their sentences or the sentences

of their duty or their judgment, or

within the confines of their pain, which

without definition, is pleasure or without

pleasure is less of the same.  I do not

choose to glorify what it is about them

that spells meaning, or what is was left

by them which imparted anything outside

of glory, outside of choice, outside of

outside, inside.

 

The parts are not a part of that glow,

the liquid does not flow from it and

the purposes of its pouring are not

within chaos or quantity, which not

presented become solid, which not

offered end in solitude. I do not

choose to glorify those ways of

becoming and I had hoped instead

that some of these words could

answer, if not for themselves, then

for me and others

who would rather know the best parts

as they are, the best places as they

change, the best of times as they

pass, as they always will.

 

I do not choose to glorify these few words

or from them listen for other voices

which know more than I. That I can not

accept what it is if they and I are one, which is

not words, which is not listening,

which is not Glory.

 

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