A Broken Word
(Day 1 of the Poem-A-Day in April 2009 exercise)
The Word faces itself in its mirror,
A being grounded in its own unity.
If there were a morning possible,
The Word would welcome the morning doings.
But morning means evening, the split of day,
And days mean yesterday and tomorrow,
And the division of the year.
And years mean history and future,
And the dissolution of the point of Time.
And now morning dew firms in a moment,
Coats the leavings of the verbs that start to act.
The mirror actively reflects, and separates,
Bifurcating into Subject and Object.
Slivers of shivering change radiate
Unto the utmost echo. Becoming begins,
Being becomes morning and evening and a day,
Morning becomes electric,
The mirror is shocked to see itself in itself.
In a moment, the shock reverberates
And explodes. Shards of separation shatter
The Word in two syllables and letters and serifs,
Then, sans serifim, a bare existence shines forth,
Regards itself once again, mirrors in the barbershop,
Differentiation sans integration,
Exponential expansion engulfing the abyss.
And it was good.
© 2009 Chuck Puckett