Mrs Benchley

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Turn me over if you wish to know’
turned it to see
‘Why seek more knowledge
when you pay no heed to what
you already know?’
Sons that connot learn
her shamelessness
I am
surrounded by the words of dead Sufis,
would do best to die …
Below
I see the hunchback, motionless,
encountering neighbours.
Above us winds blow offshore,
waves tear at their white brows.
Yet her voice alone comes through
as if she knows the random
delays of wind.
Things travel
where we know not:

I have stood there in the head-killing wind
pierced by the line that pierces
all things
and steals
the blood across my shoulders
that nears ecstasy …
only to know random
delays on the heart, my sense a poor bird
stunned by static.
Of what is light and dark,
film flickering at the gate
neither fully
annihilated nor renewed.
To search further upon the self
is to ask how am I in knowledge?
How am I any useful part in this?
And hear nothing …

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