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A.C. Evans

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Maybe This Is Why

Water gathers here in this gorge of evergreen trees
Standing inviolate in the pristine sunlight.
I can dream of negative space, what can you say now?

I prefer deserted, empty places: negative spaces where
I take the words I write and chant them in the Void,
This blank cinema screen of my soul. Can I explain?

Maybe all I can change is myself. It scares me but
Makes me come alive, takes me to places so I can think.
For this is where poetry lives its own evocative magic.

Dark edges: so beautiful, this horror, as it opens into
Far, clear worlds of alien possibility. Worlds of fear,
Worlds of terrible distances, dire gulfs of disaster.

Cries echo from the Onyx Tower where you sit,
Saturnine, on your Obsidian throne - staring, brooding
And sociopathic: can you see my precious, convoluted sphere?

This gorge of evergreen trees, devoid of people,
Is my home from home: my final resting place.
What hideous price do we pay? Maybe this is why

I cry out sometimes - you say you can hear me,
But what can you do? Play me the White Music of
Inhuman magnetism - perhaps I died over a hundred

Years ago. Approach the Zero Point of Non-Being and
Even the White Music stops. Did you know that?
Can you see me, wrapped in solitude?

Well, I hear you say: courage you have,
Faith you do not need; your art is enough.
Maybe this is why there is only negative space.

What can you say now? What can you say?

 

Page(s) 141-142

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