From the Issue: The Speaking Poem, Doug Bolling

Human beings continually record their individuality in the creases of the language….
Claude Hagege, The Dialogic Species

What is a poem the Zen master said
but a small breach in the blindness
of seeing as others have seen.

What is a poem but a feather
lifting and falling in an
immensity.

Brothers and Sisters.

If to meet on the bridge
that is the poem.
If to let go the ligatures
that bind the language
of everyday.

I suggest to you:
poem is the secret agent
of our emancipation
out of the maze
out of ourselves.

Think the creases that lie
in stone.
How through them water flows
bringing life to all green things,
even to our stories that cut
through the dross.

Night music opening sleeping earth
to festival even as a single cello
can rouse the walking dead.

My comrades
when you read this
if you read this
leave paper behind
in its fiber rags,
enter, enter.