as if

to stuff vermillion
through this strobing screen

as if to hide the chapter of a book
one is too afraid to write

as if words will shape a wandering maze
of lost secrets penned with inkstillwet

as if pages will remain unnumbered
so as not to see where they might go

as if to think that language is a map
that leads one out

as if to show that there are messengers
that fly across the night

so as to think asiftovoyage is like an emigrant passing
through thought while ripped from the surface of
constant ideas and forced to travel nomadically
by flying fast past vast knowledge stores to verify
what one dreams of finding when the journey reaches
an immobile state where the traveller discovers
movement in the architecture of ideas and becomes
moved by mere expression as if to uncover countries
of cognition never before visited where spaces composed
of rhizomatic links jump cut into new habits of mind as
if to sink into Deleuzoguattarian becomings while
daylight returns to a horizoned line of shifting plateaus
where Derrida-melting-into-Levinas shapes the journey one
step further along a shifting shore to implore acceptance
of whateverelseonefinds so as to value a(ny) thing one
unexpectedly meets for being exactlywhatitis
which
was
precisely
what
you
could
not
do,
so
thickly
stuck
within
your
angry
contra
dictions