This Day called Today

One and a half hours from sunset. Room dims. A curry bubbles in the wok.
The approaching evening promises an excursion through a pulp paperback on Chinese triads, or perhaps the rambling exclamations of one Monsieur Teste might be even better?

"What a dramatist you would make," I said to him. "You seem to be watching some experiment going on beyond the limits of all sciences! I would like to see a theater inspired by your meditations."

He said: "No one meditates."

Teste. Testical. Sperm. Origin. A man unemcumbered by formal systems of ascertaining the world around him. A Nowhere Man that is wholly present. His territory is completely internal. Was Valery seeking to become totally transparent?

Something else:


Small Wonder


Crawled
that I did
it became a posture
for most days
a heart-gleam
in turbulence
tropica assurance
for an island
of sand
and sags

Ancient writers
those
beheaded
at daybreak
became for him
and me
tiresome

An island
to burn
engulfed as
we were
by the creases
a map made
evident
we had no clue
where
the river was
it was arid
and even drier
than that

A bubble
to house
a cosmos
house
then
for hero destinies
dental records
of
callous men

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