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C Dylan Bassett

from Against Creation




now is a sound

when there is none


an exactness without


a threshold

the small rain


turning into water


compelled as if by

someone to repeat


a legible blank








to live toward each other


in something of our &

no substance


made visible


by the wrong names

having no belongings


longing goes through


never gets








I came to a certain field


to be in its certainty


a gap anticipating my arrival


at the nexus of two


rivers nearly rhyming


an almost human note


with music








there is thunder

& there is thunder


nails rattle in

the ring box


is god the feeling I get

before falling asleep


a nothingness more real


than nothing else








no name that would name


you correctly inaudible


the better to hear us with


the image of


a dream in which


someone is still awake








what I say I say in place


of winter

grass grows through


the paper at my feet

a residue of having


lived & living through


the idea that made me








if anybody

near enough to hear it


if a shadow falls in


the forest

makes the sound


between sense & not yet


reduced to chasing


memory or wonder

almost recognizing it








after the rain the sun


harder & farther away


is what keeps us hidden


the case for god


water in the bucket


evaporating meanwhile








a preferred meaning


nobody is


what I have


been working to wake to


amid the crowd-face


doesn’t notice me








I admit the mind

an instrument unto itself


invents the distance

it means to cross


a fly climbs over


the mountain’s image

behind the glass


its wings becoming

precisely the dust


on which it feeds

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