The Frag of Olio, image by Daniel Y. Harris
a selection from Fragmented Olio
from
Bas-relief
Here I begin toward
Within
memory
I am
never hemmed--
movement
accumulates
in
the bedside of this room’s
elastic
observation and
boredom
observes me
in the
constant unfastening of
this moment’s look toward tomorrow’s
penetrating
alphabet
Self, or the portrait of my youth
hanging within the blank wall decorated by light
Each
corner: body brok
-en,
an
avalanche
of music with
tone as
rhythm as
totality
of reason
this
speech
of my hearing
becomes
speckled belonging and
I’ve a
hanker to adhere
to what
my father wrote into my early
aesthetics
and altruistic harmony of hands:
noth
-ing is fenceless music unless the
ear focuses
later, plagiarizing through its
memory of intrinsic
sustained ignition of probable
articulation
and to
my west a
dragonfly
applauds
within
the vanish of its
consecutive
ascents
Three versions of disposition
i.
I was
told to organize all the truths.
My
hands, empty shelves.
ii.
My
eyes, a needed closure
contained
achromatic shapes,
reservoirs
of decapitated miracles.
iii.
Music
wore day
as does
the body holed equivalents. I cannot
hear
among
noon’s loudest warmth.
—Felino
Soriano
