{Speculative Poetics Series No.1}

The Spark 
   is not one in itself - is plural in principle - encounters the poem, runs along under the impulses of its emergence, and flies off from it after, when the 'poem' as instance has been called over with.  A spark mostly not visible but emerging out of the lattice of potentials - potential suspects, avenues, passing frames. 

I am chasing it, it is chasing me, often enough I've very much lost sight of it, writing or speaking like hands extended in utter pitch when the page is black too, knowing that somewhere is something to touch if only fleetingly and thus a direction to follow. Or sitting waiting for the dictation - a sort of hearing and patience, floating in the sea and a warm or cold current envelops for however long it does.

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