Somewhere between Craig Santos Perez and Noam Chomsky
Somewhere between Care and the Costs of Violence
is a no mindplace where no one can be forced
if it even exists
but we're pushed to find it
and pushed to press others ahead
into its faint glim
that might not even be.
It's not just long leaps across false seas
it's not just bootcamped bulked realities
it's not just multi mirrored urgencies
it's not just precision pressed accountancies
it's not just we're blurs of time we think we're in
it's not just the words we think we swim in
it's not just reminders twist in larger mind against our strained consilience
it's not just converging epiphanies that melt and dim immune to imaged sense
and spread apart oily fast across unknown surfaces roiled by dimensions undetectable.
All we think we have is word
All we think we have is image
All we think we have is link
All we think we have is is just what makes us
whether it's blurs or points or lines or shapes that upfold
or twisting interactions that didn't start and never stop
and cannot be contained because they contain itself
which is not just us but all there is.
So we tie the the braying donkey where il padrone points
and walk away to distant sleep
far from howling cries we helped contrive
or wait for wolves.
We stand somewhere between.
and somewhere behind
the wide wild eyes
are ours as well.