Then Eleven Circles
– for Dale Martin Smith

Ten easy reptiles. Ancestors, to begin with. Or, in fact, circles. Of hearing phenomenon’s sensual burden as the correspondences exit their kindred definitions; certain undisclosed intimacies.

Fine themes are illusions, and their methods are our force. A situated love accompanies perfect context, like the engine of a code of terminated gestures, so essential to the inarticulate as to become, in us, an automatic Kafka.

An art of performance realizes the unexpected and alien intelligence in our own midst. The eros of resemblance, compliant like awareness of the circle. A place possessed enough to push mystery beyond the limits of pairing.