Felino Sorino
Of this Momentum Song (eighty-two)
Diurnal is what we’ve come
across lines of linear landscape
and the signature style
of flat,
uninteresting rhythms. This is and
not to say an increase
to stamina isn’t
made from
what intuitively sent us. As when
the ear invents
from the flame of small
sound
inte-
grating from nothing’s
silent warmth to gain then, is
to begin in
the slow walk
paradigm
of positioning the/a (disparate/or same)
body to bend
in from exterior
fascinations:
__________
compose from these
pluralized perspectives, the
language/s of insomnia
can invite what invigorates,
as with someone else’s
hand in the giving motion
mood...
__________
across these floors
dirt diagrams where we’re
going, gives looks to
prior positions with
wind
drawing missing
homes into which we
will
never
recall or pull voice
from the diligent
architectural absence again
Of this Momentum Song (eighty-three)
The way this rustling is:
or, what ends this way
never began in the
health
of animated, sybaritic function. Birth
fluctuates then, isn’t. To what years
do: I’ve overheard the
language
the
mobility of it and
not knowing the
density of leaving
unrest
with-
out rhythm to
swing upon and
cycle. This is the
word of elation... demonstrated
victories, in how
the body is ornamentation a chisel
taken to an unlimited
arrival too, with paint
the face rearranges
physiognomy
according to the season of
moments’ disparate presentation
Of this Momentum Song (eighty-four)
What is said of it knowing
from
where the ending is isolated. We
bridge here: amid what Trumpet
does in the swelling of sound-on
-sound inside the various compartments. Dialogue,
we companion with.
With it, a certain form
of hearsay avalanches.
This is what Drums
does among brethren of
Rhythm’s calculated
im
pro
v
is
a
ti o
n. We sing to
whom the
singing wanted— into what bouquets wear
on wrist with scents
that fall—
the perfume is environment shaping how the body
eventually evaporates
whole and fragmented
in the staccato bone of memory’s
fragile skeleton.
__________
We look to swim
in this burn of late
Summer theater—
marrow recites us
in the age of who knows what’s ahead?, for
what prophecy fails
in doing,
the body portends
in the lyric of the music’s
dynamic occultation.
__________
I will remember, then,
the purpose of presence and
isolated
meaning
Of this Momentum Song (eighty-five)
What this life
is now
a lost configuration. Or
a chaotic
fragmented
observation.
Most
of
what was is
a removed
version of leaning toward expected behavior.
What is missed: body
grayed from what
age writes into its
relocate
prose. Of what
the body did, nothing
holds its fathoms. More so, or
only, now, is
memory
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