Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

To the side, in the air, is only the visual event of the military appearing alike bobbing in exposed open trucks, continual events, on the roads everywhere on the desert high mountains, the sparse populace persecuted, yet adhering to practice of attention to their conceptual projections, as illusional, even having the military who torture as the reflections by which these very constructions can be seen. Seeing then make a leap because of that that entirely clarifies them. But they may be eliminated. Their social-seeing - entirely, their civilization - crowd eliminated. The packed trucks of military overseeing who persecute, who see 'commercially as if that were life, and were pleasure in life', yet the high thin altitude mountain crags rest on thin day-moon continuously? Only apparently, moon on one day. One in traveling there.

This ability may be eliminated by tyranny in the structure. 
               Grace sitting out at a cafe. For her at least that which is in the visual plain is free, isolated. A dun-brown pad of face has emerged from the high waving grass, seated.
               At one of the tables a man with dun-brown moist soft pad of nose, as if taking up the entire of the face yet not distinct making the eyes muted, was there. He'd emerged from the high grass.
               She gets up with her purse and leaves to follow him.
               In the visual plain, her partner with her, no longer fellow officer, as they've quit, lazily sipping his cappuccino watches her go, an indigo hot evening beginning - where there had been the evening before, no day even with it.
               A line of trucks is going by, which the dun-pad-nose is joining. They stop, expelling exhaust, so that he might mount them. Immediately, Grace and Andrew run to the trucks, Cloe appearing on the roof of a building across the street training a gun on them. The cargo of the trucks are boys being carried to execution. The partners release them into the evening. One of these is Esau de Light who floats off the truck.
               Her partner's mind, completely separate from the indigo evening, any, duplicates seeing hacking and crushing a pod that had been resembling, thus killing, a citizen who was slumped in a door sleeping. He'd done this hacking. The citizen not dressed in a military suit. Yet here and there military suits emerging on the liquid-worms are all around him, so that he runs on.
               At other times, he responds to Grace seeing her applying the drug on the burn marks on her naked chest which 'causes' a later dear elation running hunting. She's addicted to "struggle," but may have lost ability to do it, as that which is exterior, to apprehend is interiorized. Then he said gently as she applied it to the burn marks Don't Grace. Though one time he pauses, softly cracking a joke, You've been given grace.
               Holding the bag curled beside it at night, breathing from it, the accordion only moving softly (she makes it do it) clings to the bag. One's organs and veins come apart in the high atmosphere. Only the bag is suffusing breathing, which is outside, so one has no movement of one's outside. The dream of the spine The subjective interior is alleviated - of one - in life by change outside. Therefore we're not bound to continual rebellion. Only in one's present? O, not at all in one's present?
               To write only exterior 'actions' that are in events (that are in 'the outside only') in order to change 'interior-subjective' ones - as if 'interior' is vast geographical tracks - is to separate from either 'outside' or any 'interior.'
The relation of memory to event is separation. They aren't the same. Actions are not lost roaming, in that they are not a memory (of their occurrence). The dream of the spine.
               The actual chrysalis liquifies and 'then' is the other thing, butterfly. But there has to be 'work' or 'instructions' 'to' liquify and then reform it - the 'written' 'instruction' isn't either the chrysalis or the butterfly yet. Is the written instruction indelible? DNA. Secret Autobiography, however, is neither instructions not fiction - all events are fictions (events at all are only their sequence).
               Some people were kept as slaves in the colony, an urban embroiled Mars. If they want to consume them they do. They extract further concessions, then call public lists to make further examples. Groups of five were tied together, beaten, hundreds marching on roads, some dying still tied to the others. One day waking recently she had no memory of any of the incidents of life at all later or before. Because of the physical pain. "Representatives" of their original people are in official bureaus, look disdainfully but without speaking when they meet in public. But one has no memory at all suddenly. Blossoms opened on the trees before dark roses are everywhere. In the day there's a bright moon only. Without relation with people in space.
               Officer Cloe O'Brien, a long slender leg draped while she's seated by the half-groups like half-life so their interior is visible in cafes. People in clusters on the street illumined from the golden ground, bending at some who are consumed as liquid worms there then running on as these move. Cloe finds Grace who is with only an innocent expression kneeling on one of the figures (these figures simply kill people on the street).
               'The media', 'the news' (business only is "freedom" as if "information"), 'presents' of events as if they were actually exterior, as if that which is business is the order in which events occurred.
               Tibetan Secret Autobiography 'is to see' what is particular and recognized, as illusions, thus shared later by the community. But these visions only occur (later accepted, identified) as secret, in the sense of not being spoken (not being shared, and thus 'formed'), before being written. (I also see my simple illusion by - not perceiving it before writing. By not doing so. Spoken it would have been something else. I wouldn't see it.)
               Being the silken worm that is itself pod-flower transforming as oneself, sometimes one is consumed. (In the film, one is only consumed and perception is irrelevant except as a warning that one should flee.)
               'Interiority' seized by the outside, translates it only. 'Interiority' which admits the outside but does not move - as if the outside floats separate in its midst - neither eschewing the outside nor incubating it. Not creating it. Is Secret Autobiography 'interiority not moving the outside floating in it yet not reflected in it (and the outside not reflecting one's interiority)' - so that neither produces or eschews the other - as different instants of this occurring?
               Secret Autobiography: written therefore secret experience by 'seeing,' that's not exteriorized in life or in dreams as events (which are exteriorizations only).
               There was a line between the writing being simply narrative of an event and being its impermanence. That an event 'referenced' might be so minute that later the event can't even be remembered is part of the writing's (being the event's) occurrence as impermanence.