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VENMO // SPOTFUND // CASHAPP // STRIPE
in what way do the bones know?
and as for the belly,
if it knew
how would it say so?
after all what does it matter
whether matter or mind when
everything known can be twisted and bent like the
trunk of a storm-ravaged birch—
when the rot of a storm-ravaged trunk,
and the memory of the storm and the rot,
and the rememberer and the remembrance
all can
also
die?
in what way do the dead know
of the being-with,
of the here-now,
and the growing-towards,
and the dance step never learned,
arising as the dancer
becomes the dance?
what does the dancer know?
whatever it is,
it is forgotten
as soon as it is said.
say nothing, then,
and dance instead.
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