Nothing Happening

Nothing here—nothing.

Happening.

Hear. Nothing at all.

Nothing.

Happening.

 

All words move between empty and full, never quite reaching either edge of the gauge.

Though E seems always in reach (often seems to be the aim of politicians’ political speech), F

(always the aim of poets when they are poets and poems when they are poems) always is

a reach. Where people mix elements like alchemists simples trying to make something happen—never

knowing exactly what will happen—or if anything or nothing will happen. Never knowing exactly

what has happened if something does or something waits or nothing waits, comes alive aslumber

without any sign apparent, inertly lying, as though waiting for suitable conditions. Knowing only

the nothingness of words, marks, vibrations, themselves without sign

ificance. Existing only when overheard or -observed. Drawn up by forces of weather from the surface

of the sea, swirling around the eye. Nothing. Happening.

 

Banish the poets politicians. They make nothing happen.