Saturday, June 11, 2016

2 poems || Ann Huang

In Theory

You are raised up in life by your love for peace

You then hummed for humane discretion 

The pink of the air was the pink of the words 

Customs do, for you, as a distinctive contentment

An infinite percentage of dissolving waves you take in from time 

A calming porcelain is made by space with purity 

An event of teaching, accepting, losing, reality 

The view of the sky opening its unwarranted ears beneath you 


I dream of what my life needs and am hungry

As I catch up my tenderness I have missed

Feeling to be the only one you crave


Detection strengthening
in early morning’s shadow, long
night would be gone, 

the leisure retired underneath it
—whoever that might be—

Leaves of a new world 
under the same database:
could you unleash that:

redo window covering of 
minimal finials?


Minimal time when 
entries without maps
find it: I Ching,

Chinese philology, the ideals 
to life from synchronicity

in German: temporal,
when Nietzsche lashes out
sophisticated scholars

from continual agnates,

they see arduous earth..

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