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
