Escaping Never into That Realm

Because it moves us not we take a pot shot Ping!

O balls! we miss and still escape evils of saintly
Standards by having no standards at all we who
Swim social slack-water between this tide and that
And if we learn next to nothing at all well then 
We need not unlearn what little we do learn
Everyone thinks when they go they go up but
We’re not so sure about that look how they see
The smoke of disbelief so very thick tonight they

See us leaping vaguely away from that fuzzy dim
Transcendental fluorescence that star dizzy to be
Everything to everybody everywhere O well if we
Wear baseball caps with zebraic boldness and 
Don’t appear at all one day they think we're lazy

Quick! A Last Poem before I Wake

You're getting stoned with Willie Nelson and

Yogi Bear's in this dream too don’t ask me where

Boo Boo hides the picnic basket in these woods

O come morning I know so much about things

Like how I am nourished by shabbiness like how

Half of me is this vague way of knowing this

Epistemological inexactness the other half all

Canted caps and cocky zebras toking doobies

Tonight I know so little about things like an arrow

That feels something soft suddenly feels it all

The way to the fletching I don’t know as I get

Wendy Carlos either despite your blue eyes

Turning up to watch me dance in my top hat

White tails and cumbersome blue cummerbund 

Yes We Kant

Suppose one omits from the experience of love 
Everything derived from experience

Space remains in the absence of bodies

Space remains from the concept of body

What is left over after all omission

Is what we derive from our cognition

What is thought in the predicate of the judgment

Is already thought in the subject

Suppose one thinks of the number 33

(Ha ha how new-testamently biblical

How?)

What is the unknown X that connects us? 

What synthetic judgment—

No appeal to experience—

Factors our sum?

Space remains in the absence

Space is the form of intuition

We intuit our absent bodies

Yours and mine

Time is the form of all intuitions

The absence of space 
Cannot be presented

What method of looking
What transcendental aesthetic
Would allow us to see such absence?

Space is an infinite given magnitude

Having its parts within itself

Not having infinitely many instances

The predicate amplifies the subject
The subject amplifies the predicate

You are the predicate and I the subject

I am the predicate and you the subject

How shall we measure

The space between us?

How shall we measure

What resides in the subject
What resides in the predicate?

We could say that our love

Resides in the space of a priori concepts

Space is the form of intuition

Time is the form of intuition

Time is prior to the placement of objects

In time

Time precedes our bodies in space
Space limits our bodies in time

Things and beings in themselves 
Are not temporal our love
Is however temporal

Time is a condition 
For the reality of all appearances

Our love is not an appearance
Is our love not an appearance?

We intuit our own minds passively

Receiving successive mental states in time
Thus we intuit  the form of our love

Our love is a logic of pure thoughts

Our love is transcendental

Estrangement Ceaselessly Deferred

When we reached the riverbank

Remember how we offered naked throats

The current’s rope?

And wasn’t it always just so just so deep

As pockets where we kept water clocks

Blinking silent oceans?

Our mothers were standing on our eyelids

Our fathers were standing on our tongues

We with our delirious waltzes

O we of ancient dizzy dances

We with wide proletarian eyes

We saw demented violins

We spun without losing breath

We heedless of the hour

And the ceremony’s import!

Our mothers were standing on our eyelids

Our fathers were standing on our tongues

We lost our arithmetic trying hard

To figure out the equation for the act of love

So incompatible with the act of poetry

We heard the tragic lips  

The hiss and then the lisp

But we never heard the word