Poem of the Month
The Ritualites

By Michael Nardone

Published on May 6, 2019

We live on an island
I mean I don’t know all the history
It’s never really understood
Where is home
The landscape drifts
This is my climate
And now we’ve all arrived
And the doors are locked
So there’s the street and all its people
We were talking about coincidence last time we were here
Now here we are
A coincidence
We have this quesion
Whether or not there are still experimental places
With everything becoming a gallery
Officially and actually
Bureaucratically
I think that’s what people miss
These spaces of transitional happening
Where there are all these peaks and folds
A different sense of time
I go back trying to find moments that were real
Moments not forming some solid meaning
But in relation to relation
You too are a part of that trade
It’s a kind of magnetism
Try and render it readable
You reach this new velocity
Hello
I know you
I mean
I know I know you
I know what you mean I mean
I know what you meant
This isn’t real life
We’re all on the record
That’s why everything I’ve said so far is completely made up
Should we sit here
Can we sit here
There aren’t enough seats
It’s nothing sentimental
Come on in and give up your autonomy
I afford you
I have the capacity to bear your investment
But what should we do with the interest
Where’s the door
How about we all stop talking and start groping one another
Picking and choosing eclectically
It will be a conceptual work
Everyone will feel obliged to pick up the reference points
No
This is the opposite of what I intended
Yes
Lo and behold they mesh
Perhaps this zone has its own time only your wrist receives
The sheer number of dead birds is unusual
I don’t remember what we were doing
Something about the history of human beings
How do you spell your name
I remember I remember
There’s the Zen practice of writing on water
Which is a collapsing of the French words for death and mirror
Am I wrong
Am I wrong
I miss my daughter
Six months ago you wouldn’t even recognize me
It’s good I’ve made decisions
It’s not a private act
Theses things have their convulsive moments
Your mind goes out your ear
Once again
It bursts into dispersion
Once again
You materialize the mutter
No and yes
We’ve been over this a thousand times
The ocean is bottomless
Space is endless
The hour is a clock
It seems necessary to make these connections
A noise begins to swell
Their names are in the air
Across the sky
The clouds enlarge
We owe each other everything
I haven’t been talking much
But I’ve got stories
Behold my nervous system
Do I still get to court you
It’s something we’re all taking part in
Living is going to be this wonderful cocktail party
All these small disagreements
The way they explode
A big bunch of shapes and sounds
This is actually happening
And sure enough
There is this moment
I can not help you
Thank you
Thank you so much
Lovely to see you
It was truly something
Take care
I always expect it to happen like that
Love is something that happens in Iceland
How should I transcribe the laughter
I am not going to speak about his clavicle
What’s left is our will
The answer is yes
How do I reply to such a question
Am I supposed to reply

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