from Slowly by Lyn Hejinian

I frequently slowly wish for more of the sudden experience
   But it might be that I'll be surprised at myself by myself,
i.e., abruptly dismayed
   An impulse is something of a summation
   An impulse is not a sudden nor an arbitrary act
   I can't help but choose
   In my jealousy I may take hold of the worl through you
and that doesn't bring me any conveniences
   But it brings together a large but not infinite
accumulation of temporary panoramas
   Shown light I could swing around a camera and never
hide an "original choice"

  Subjectivity even if not of the curling sky is my
duration
All day subjectivity is an endurance awating objects
for a minute digressing
   And it hopes for objects eager and unbaffled in spaces
somewhere near eye level to greet it with comprehension
during its waking hours
   Everyone knows that in the dream called "Will My Sprit
Live On When I'm Dead" as in the dream called "Will I
Be Fired" and the dream called "Do You Only Pretend To
Love Me" there are no objects
   In the dream called "One Who Is Poor Passes By Inch By
Inch" there is no object
   Subjectivity at night must last hours with nothing to
judge but itself
   The walls of the hemispheres face and this produces life
to closed admiring eyes

  We regularly anticipate this moment at around this hour
underway gradually
   Images are emitted which through fear I might gradually
miss wincing and blinking piecemeal bit by bit
   Yet I know that now the day is running well and
paralleling yesterday inch by inch
   But we'll never get to tomorrow this way
   It is under other terms
   The fists at the end of the hands strike already
   Slowly there are bends in the bank to what happens
   Between the two shores down comes a sound track
   We get music which is time moving loudly

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/lyn-hejinian