| © samantha krukowski |
| VEILED DOOR All intimacy hides from view The metal rolls upward on runners, release of inside breath while the curtains retain, with the slightest sideways slither External-internal pressure; the activity behind the veil oozes out then bursts out like a flame with the parting of the hair Layered aperture, double door to keep the heat in the rain out (Really to obscure secrets, like on rainy days rigging forts to hide from parents and telling stories) Torn shield Pillar-shaped A new entrance, A passage through before the passage through (like sex ed before sex), a direct route ENTRANCE Cushioned between buttocks An ample chastity belt (Surprisingly thin, tinny) Grate, texture, pressure-bounded Heart of the action Interior whir of machinery Solitary work But the handle turns Invader! Fall into the grate tunnel, Refusal: abrasive friction of textured brick, Sweaty sulfuric steam intoxicates; stagnant moss, dirty flesh Break the barrier Push through to the warm, pressurized compartment between The processing center (one egg only) A brief respite ABSENCE/PRESENCE Immovable bricollage Patchwork of time's hands Unintentional mosaic Narrative in brick Immobile entity, what do you hide? Who (á la Poe) is buried behind your immobility? Replacement dungeon Mysterious blockade I closed my cat in a drawer once (She wouldn't stop sleeping on my clothes) I forgot her Found her because I heard her If I press my ear against the back of your neck (Your ear is straining, your head turned, geometric haircut, bushy beard) Will I hear scratching Or silence? INSIDE/OUTSIDE In this 'horrible inside-outside' of unuttered words and unfulfilled intentions, within itself, being is slowly digesting its nothingness "I can see in," he said; "so can I," I replied (it wasn't true, neither was true.) I felt like throwing a rock through him to open him up, or puncturing his skin to feel the whiff of hidden spirit. I wanted to climb onto his wooden knees, precarious, unstable, avoiding the bolts and on my tiptoes pull on his eyelids and look underneath. Open his jaws and see in his throat the clutter (beer cans, wine bottles, dust, broken glass.) I used to think of his pants as handles; by grasping the cuffs and yanking upward they would peel off--the layers would gradually reveal him. I could never get his pants off that way (the hinges were rusty and I couldn't find oil); his teeth were too sharp during my attempt to hoist myself in since walking through was impossible. He had to want me there anyway, and once in, I was afraid I wouldn't get out. CLOSED A lock is a psychological threshold Silencing gate (though a numbered indicator of place) Pull it to Always behind Pseudo protection of solitude Outside the tempest may rage birds sing, cars pollute, paperwork waits, people shop (think?) Lock the black bars; shut it all out Off with street shoes Slip into dingy white terrycloth slippers Turn on the television, pad to the kitchen Comforting mental noiselessness Wrenching mornings About face (the sun is too bright) And the house is still warm Turn the key; guaranteed permanence LOST/ABANDONED For who is prepared to go beyond the spider, the lady-bug and the mouse, to a point of identification with things forgotten in a corner? Return to origins...man-made structure becomes a natural construction; disintegrates...icon of decomposition...frame-less, white paint peeling...creation of a new context (it is trying to identify with the rubble it lays on)...a different kind of intermediary between worlds (it can reveal its underbelly)...a universe underneath...crawling ants, slimy worms, acidic mold (eating away at their own house)...guarantor of cool shade and chilling moisture...unintentional deconstruction. PUNCTURE Door interrupts window (window interrupts door?)...layered narrative, violent wound; subtle mimic...creator of asymmetry in a symmetrical context...brick repair work is a frame, with a moulding, even...(imitator of the elegant arch; ape of a pane)...imposing trespasser pretending to be an entrance (horror story: carnivorous orifice, bloody brick entrails piled about, the stains still visible around the door's grimly set mouth)...impassible statement of entrance (a trap, an arrogant hoax); the window is in reality the accessible door. MICROCOSM/MACROCOSM Immensity is within ourselves. It is attached to a sort of expansion of being that life curbs and caution arrests, but which starts again when we are alone. As soon as we become motionless, we are elsewhere; we are dreaming in a world that is immense. Indeed, immensity is the movement of motionless man. It is one of the dynamic characteristics of quiet daydreaming Echoes of self (have you ever met anyone through whom you can see yourself?)...door within a door...at the mercy of a greater operational machine (fate never tells what a given day will bring)...big X of guillotine frame repeats in small X of small door...inevitable journey through, the tracks lead the way (an unexpected train would destroy itself on this blockade)..consideration threshold, the foreboding mounts; first the awesome mechanism, next the CAUTION sign, last the lock and fortified window (you can check one last time to make sure you want to go in)...commanding composition, majestic tower of door-bricks, indicator of a journey (the path is well-marked and worn, the tale expands on the other side) EXIT Displaced exit doorway lives its own life...resigned, leaning on its elbow against its colleague the crumbling wall (only they know their story)...exit watches and sees its own angle repeated in its own landscape...now its message is clear; leave here (it no longer shows the way out but commands it); leave me my solitude and contemplation; do not stare at my building's vomit, its insides turned out for all to see (everything returns to chaos, happily)...a house-quake, a building-quake...abandon me and I will find myself; pick up my pieces JOURNEY/DESTINATION The ascent stretches forever Children hiking with energetic parents up long mountains feel this There are banisters here But the ground is transparent Each step is visible (Getting somewhere) Getting there The corporate ladder So, finally, sitting in a little office on high there is a commanding view and transparent trails--but they are visible Those watching from below See an obvious plan for ascent There are some mentors (Rusty banisters--pipes that feed the process) Hold on too tight and they burn a hand Crumbling under dependence No, this is an independent march No stairs, just a ramp (with a grid) Follow the pattern (others have tread that track) The door is just ahead SOLITUDE Then, on the surface of being, in that region where being wants to be both visible and hidden, the movements of opening and closing are so numerous, so frequently inverted, and so charged with hesitation, that we could conclude on the following formula: man is half-open being Ready-made attic An eagle's airy aerie Dangling feet Thigh impressions left by the grid floor Piles of cinderblocks make an easy chair The open structure lets the wind dance and talk Creaking metal Chewing on horsetail grass Shoulders slumped (no posture required) Head leaning back Long vista (visions) Clearing head Expansive time Deep breaths, wafted away, The river placid from here Light lullaby |