Tell me, what’s the joy of giving if you’re never pleased?
— Blood Orange, Champagne Coast
the sun rises at eastern edges
yellowing twilight blues
when there is nothing
rest
if there were Christmas stockings
we always had an orange
such persistence can feel joyful
when there is no other choice
Geh in der Verwandlung aus und ein.
[Be conversant with transformation.]
— Rainer Maria Rilke, Sonette an Orpheus
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i believe in omens
and my own ability to shatter and reform
— Jill Khoury, excerpt from “Sixteen”
oh righteous revelry
please indulge this faithful attempt to clarify
so many modern relationships still lean feudalistic
as nobles dance to blue note promises & scheme for eternal life
it rings visionary to trust what is mine was never yours to take
a redundant mythology now inadequate as waning winter light
temporarily, we sense an emerging surrender to the hushed hues of sexual panics
on a grand scale psychic interiors were smoothed flat like apathy or political truths
there was a collective ache for a state of respite from all this revolutionary suffering
as conviction loops into endless realities it is our sacred duty to carve out revelations
we are only possible when testimonies illuminate just beyond the sharp edges of darkness
“There are dead stars that still shine because their light is trapped in time.
Where do I stand in this light, which does not strictly exist?”
— Don Delillo, Cosmopolis
The light, not yet warm, opens our days.
We commit to memory that hope is best performed as a cognitive process
and remember: stars align themselves through proximity and gravitational pull.
Collapsing distance to violent midwinter visions
questions seep: how did I not know I was in danger?
Violations stacked delicate // soft brushes with unwanted space.
This tail of the past curls comfortably around itself.
Scared animals return home, even if home is unsafe.
Time sinks into litanies simple as joy is serious.
This narrative clearly has a beginning, middle, and no end
because our holy bodies are sites of quantum consciousness.
We swagger in possibility and pull intuitive threads to unravel.
Cache Culture 