the local is the international
the national is the parochial

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It looks like
instead of “Scottish LIterature”
it has to be “anti-colonial studies”
or some such: fair enough—

if the narrative doesn’t fit,
fuck it then. let’s instead
have some kind of
discussion, let alone

a “colloquium”,
on the function of relative
spacing and relative articulat-
ion in, the place of address: 

which is to say:-
                          the page itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

down this way
following
the line

of breathing,
starting over

again and
again and again

it does not turn
without

that which
carries it
over (and over)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

it’s too easy

saying
“the craft” 

defines
thing-in-itself

unique
to current instance:

 

but how otherwise
assess

the given syntactic
the visual plane

the page
where pacing can be articulated

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

it seems that it’s always
the same setting out, the same
standing still in the one voice
looking at it: 

                   hello again.
ears not chooned to listen
outside of the word,
                  to skate between
and away from the trampo- 

line

and does it matter? maybe not:
let’s head off together in this
little soliloquoy:

play some music if you’re lucky—
if that’s who you are, today

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the way of it
is not always forward:

it can sometimes
be less than that which you admire;

but being there, with it
or is it on it, who knows

eventually
the thing itself, is:

this the way
it occurs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

why it should be this way
                          god only knows
if there was one—or many

whoever invented this position
this way of being
                         —living on the page

in a voice that nobody knows, nor
wants to know: who invented it,
who invented all this

this at least we do
together                              
                        not
“the royal we”           you know...
                        but

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

this is the way
I think we want it
to operate: not

crowding the page
as some larger font:

but using simply
that which seems
easiest on the eye,

having in mind
the relative possibilities

of particular spacing, hallmark
of that lowercase tradition
we long admire

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

turning salty
the way
the unknown

which way
turns
listening

partly
the waters
undivided


between
the self
beckoning

back again

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

various
the abstract

climbs down
reckoning

always never
the same, whenever

it lands itself
meaning taken

over, moving
over and out

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

turning around
and around
finding

the only
place left

the day
the page

another one

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the day
closes

it comes
to its way

of
this being

the end