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A = A

Mine to ask a mask to say, A is not A.

No one, ever the contrarian, to answer.

The moon is both divided & multiplied

by water: as chance, as the plural of chant.

O diver, to be sea-surrounded by a thought bled white—

a blankness as likely as blackness.

What is the word for getting words & forgetting?

Might night right sight?

I, too late to relate

I & I, trap light in sound

& sing no thing that breath can bring.

from The Absolute LetterFind more by Andrew Joron at the library

Copyright © Andrew Joron
Used with the permission of Flood Editions.

Published in Andrew Joron Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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