Tabula rasa

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_{original poem
& images by
@d-pend
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Tabula rasa

The board is scrubbed white;
I'm all sparse stubble
and stage-fright.
She's a piece of parchment
who multiplies, miraculous:
tucked into the basket
of my bicycle,
a crochet hook to loop my yarn
that soft-cements the binding
of my daybook.

A sudden weaving motion rolls
through our reluctant tapestry:
illuminates the contrasts,
shows the subtle frays.

She—high lit against discrepancy,
I melt into the umber
of false safety, pretense,
insensible, I utter—
—low nothings—
—my knowing's sad extent,
cool crimson, manilla,
my dawn and pure intent.

My innards are all crystal,
set gently, clear-rapt
with an extraordinary delicacy
so unlike that self I e'er see
through life-rambling's throes.

Soon come, self soon goes—
emerges through a wormhole
where space-wind white blows,
a pale transparent knoll
where we languish, divine.

Here I'm hypermagnetized—
my errant arrow spins;
I pole-less dwell in cosmic artic
'neath the snow in vents.

Molten—air ancient:
To whence primordial river,
soft sapient? O orient,
Direct me, encompass then
my body, my meanness,
of clay my dread experience:
that stony ignorance
which all human minds must share.

Throw now my dross
on the searing unspeakable:
whose spark rises saffron
in lily-white tongues, held low,
denied by fled frost
of all my logic liquified.

Deep behind my eyelids
She's kaleidescope—of etudes,
orange flowers melt—
—mathematical unfolding—
in precision, a soft-ticking euphonia
to purchase me my song-clothed solitude
interlocking days, dreamed earnestly
in silk and glared rubies
in ether's gulf between.

That tension, elation,
caress I scarely
dare admit I feel, all for fear
of the board scrubbed white.
Blank fullness, to fleet—
erasure fills my sight.

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This post is original material
created by Daniel J. Pendergraft
.
_{First published to STEEM
on February 23, 2020}

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