Audio text composition, 2:18, 2010. Text and reading by Bonnie Jones
WRITING FOR THE WAITING
I’ve given it over. Slinky considerations – the word word word word.
This hanging little twitchy line. My files are killing me.
We could be vast fractious planes. Shift – shift again.
A turn turn tern – in small wings.
Constabulary iron grip about to grip you into – other voice
In decisive – the sound of metallics – chinks of glass – silver paint pen
If your other voice was a voice that was like the voice you heard in the shower the other day that was more like night – that day was.
We’ll wait again. A small mole to the left corner of your eye. It’s watering a bit when you’ve been looking for too long. This – and this – all this naming makes me tired.
My lament and your potato salad.
Let’s consider a set of instructions that might appear right here.
Take the inside of your wrist and place it against a cold window.
Think about all the ways in which your body becomes – another diffusion.
Light – you’re a sneaky one – parable of how we got to know each other – passing now into another’s sight.
You’re yourness – stumbled around in the rock garden – the dirt getting under your fingernails when you plied rosemary – the words you had for objects and the objects that got tucked up inside all those vowels. Trowel rhythms. I’ll take that into consideration.
Still I can’t stop but think. Yoursness. Oursness.
Someone once told me that the braid dates to 3500BC.
All we can ask is that we can hold it in our hands still.