On Orality
Kyle Gunning
Unto the sound, I will
This body, not the word;
And look just as I say:
Speech is the outside of me.
Translation is the root
Of all hatred. Only
Truth will come from being
Alone. To know thyself
Is an older saying,
Older than I remember
Where it came from. Hist’ry
Is the dance in the hall
Of all rhythm, the one
That is truest; that chimes
In the ring of its rhyme,
That knows time as only
Teleology, faulty
Memory. History
Always starts with me. Hear
The heart take the beating
Behind the bone. Come home.
—–
On a Body Modification
If all this life
I would have known
Than I'd have learned
To make a new
Body for you.
—–
Fairie Door
The world s’revealed
In stepping through
The fairy door,
Where sylvan wood
Will serve as guide
To bring us to
The other side:
An older age,
Where stands a man,
A wanderer,
Dressed
In green and black,
With cape and hood
And cart and mule
In tow;
With broken harp
And old vielle
Upon a lute,
Though he did not
Seem a player;
He had in hand
A hoop and stick
With which, in stride,
He rolled across
This countryside
And hummed a tune
Which graced my ears,
It went just so:
In slepe I stonde
Upsadoun,
And whan upstirte
The sun I come
Uprighte;
That everiche daye
WIll comen so
Makes me a
Straunger
Unto myself,
And fables trouthe,
And dirrecions -
Evrychone -
Aright, aright.
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