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I keep going back to that word the French like it trahison the French are partly me in micro-particular disposition I sing I'm most fascinated by metaphysical betrayal and its off-color quarter-tones I mean I mean it that a bit of matter could humiliate
another like in a beginning when of angels… No I believe they play me like a winning king but in a future I know already while scourged I remember when X and Y made Ted miserable Until he died? before he died? but that's before the time of these poems of my emplacement in the zeros
Do you know that all history's happening at the same time and see the future if you scry, gross matter It is 2007 someone dear having died I am on an air- plane to San Diego and suddenly see blue and orange geo- metrical formations around the periphery of my vision both eyes is this part of the poem I'm the singer of
tales of bliss and structure of the universe yet unperceived Is it built like what I'm talking is it in fact structured when I write Voices Ross, the dear dead speaks to me in the kitchen to say he's happy the dead are happy I later believe some are sad sometimes, cyc- lically until they work it out my poems help them
that my poems help everyone that I am re- structuring whatever this is that is everything so that nothing's lost but placed new-pieced into a collage of the transpired remade into a transcendental richesse opening of graves gold light burst out: Grave of Light gravid of light Grave Alice and laughing Allegra
ocean of chaos breaks collage of tones you know and who I was am and will be come back to me in an enormous betrayal by who once left heaven all those wanting to be matter my own body born no one can understand born no one can com- prehend how many possibilities we once were be-
fore anyone deceived a rock by breaking it Ross tell me what You got it he says and what you've kept to yourself is cool but the Fibonacci Series being no longer how shall we say these irrelevancies They slide into the collage I say Yeah he says That on the other hand anything will do any glue
Because I was upset at your death mine eyes did break not into tears but figments colored particles castle bat- tlements they call them swim before me collapse I rise again for I am everything participatory in the earth world's illusions this is an homage to Ross all that exists communicates cry a little, cry
betrayal that there is dying though death the other breathes
"I've been writing some poems on my life since around 2000, since it doesn't seem that very much has happened to me since then. That is, I'm trying to remember. This is one of those poems." —Alice Notley
Alice Notley is the author of Certain Magical Acts (Penguin Books, 2016). She lives and writes in Paris, France.
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