At the Limit
after Tympan by Jacques Derrida
Took a needle to a dictionary.
It dispersed like confetti
Iron and shackles drifting away on air
Leaden engraved words set alight
Stuck a needle in a dictionary,
And found a limit. A moment. A second. A letter of difference. An opportunity to unprove sounds from language. Leaving them battered and smudged.
All the spell checkers
The glorious thesaurus.
Both Roget and Webster cannot catch me now.
At this limit…everywhere. You take your step or stand at it. Get washed over it. Read about it. Becomes obvious, naked in your dimensions seeing the ever-expanding equator of your body, then a second layer of confinement, add to that sensible shoes and reliable transportation, making the subject a complicated personality.
Hardly aware,
The invisible borders.
The moments, words, tones, cackling electric transmissions, dots and dashes, half-looks
The boundaries, side-walk cracks, endless ticking, sudden thoughts, sideways looks, gruff sounds,
We violate every day
Affirm, you are at the limit.
Marc Janssen has been writing poems since around 1980. Some people would say that was a long time but not a dinosaur. Early decrepitude has not slowed him down much; his verse can be found scattered around the world in places like Pinyon, Slant, Cirque Journal, Off the Coast and Poetry Salzburg also in his book November Reconsidered. Janssen coordinates the Salem Poetry Project- a weekly reading, the occasionally occurring Salem Poetry Festival, and was a nominee for Oregon Poet Laureate. For more information visit, marcjanssenpoet.com.