this is the title of an art installation at the johnson museum that i saw last weekend. to be perfectly honest, the art didn’t do much for me; but this poem really did:
Untitled (where each new sunrise promises only the continuation of yesterday).
Untitled (where the wind carries from afar all but that for which one yearns).
Untitled (where transcendence appears as a drone sent by men with thick torsos).
Untitled (where too much significance is attached to the debris of one airplane).
Untitled (where angry men search the wreckage for pieces of a pilot).
Untitled (where one is hunted in proportion to one’s remoteness).
Untitled (where the value of life contracts as the value of the territory expands).
Untitled (where one walks tall, but with each step feels the onset of a stagger).
Untitled (where one stares forward with eyes that no longer focus on the horizon).
Untitled (where one waves one’s stick toward the notion of an object).
Untitled (where one sees the object only when its presence blocks all view of the horizon).
Untitled (where one tires of the same sentence expressed in its endless variations).
Untitled (where one exhausts oneself with the same idea said a thousand ways).
Untitled (where one aims words at the sky only to afterward kick through their debris).
Untitled (where the horizon feels like walls that collapse slowly toward one).
Untitled (where the daily repetition of one’s motions defeats even the thought of escape).
Untitled (where one believes in a silence that one cannot help but articulate).
Untitled (where one lives for the poetry for which there is no longer vocabulary).
Untitled (where one tries to imagine the last words to be said).
Untitled (where truth reveals itself in its seeming disfigurement).
Untitled (where hiding places are many, escape only one).
-Michael Ashkin, 2009
