The Flow Of Consciousness, Thinking And Time In The Writing Of Poems Poem by Dennis Ryan

I. YOUR WONT

Wednesday morning, December 12,2018 at 7: 08 a.m.; Thursday morning, January 3,2019 at 9: 18 a.m.

My gift to you myself straightforwardly;
yours to me yourself crookedly.How

did such antitheses ever align,
run parallel courses one to the other

toward similar destinies? Did it ever happen,
or did my sympathy—naïve, overactive—

simply get the best of me? You might make reply
had you the courage, but leave it lie, as is your wont.


II.THE FLOW OF CONSCIOUSNESS, THINKING AND TIME
IN THE WRITING OF POEMS, THIS TIME ABOUT YOU

Wednesday afternoon, December 12,2018 at 4: 19 p.m.; Thursday, December 13, at 8: 10 p.m.; Saturday night, December 15 at 9: 20 p.m.; Sunday morning, December 16 at 10: 50 a.m.; Wednesday morning, December 19 at 8: 32 a.m.; Thursday morning, December 20 at 8: 21 a.m.; Saturday morning, December 22 at 9: 05 a.m.; Friday morning, December 28 at 7: 19 a.m.; Sunday morning,
December 30 at 9: 25 a.m.; Tuesday morning, January 1,2019 at 9: 07 a.m.;
Thusday morning, January 3,2019 at 9: 28 a.m.

I couldn't have written this without you;
but then again, everything I write I create

based on my knowledge of reality, not yours,
so how close have I come to the real you—

whatever the phrase the real youmeans
as regards personality, behavior and self,

selves you've allowed the rest of us to see?
(You remind me of the second Study for

Les Demoiselles d'Avignon, watercolor,
1907: 5 women posed, counter-posed.

Which phase, face will you show today,
this morning, afternoon and night?)

You move into and out of consciousness
at times, the holidays now nearly upon us,

and what price memory? Priceless, though
it's more problematic than this moment even

though I don't pretend to understand how
memory works nor how consciousness flows.

Regardless, thanks for giving me a subject,
a topic to dwell on and express (this tenderness?)

though my exact thesis has not yet been discovered—
we are skilled, well-versed at this, having put

the art into practice for many years
in our respective careers; others have

learned how to narrow down a thesis,
in part from us, and in part through

their own struggles, hard work and persistence.
It's a recursive process.Now.Immediate consciousness.

And then.Displaced consciousness.Both are
processing whenever we think, talk and write.

I wrote a differentpoemthis morning about you
and me I don't think you'd care for.It's as close

to reality as I can get.I feel confident in this.
If you respond soon, I'll consider revising it

based on our dialog, then write a second
that takes your side, views as you relate them.

Better yet—you write a poem in dialog
with this, go beyond it: include corrections,

amendations, omissions, my limitations,
explain how my knowledge of reality

is constrained by what little I know.
Readersmight (might?) appreciate

this, hearing from you, hearing
your versions of things, how

they went down, when—
the occasions, and possibly...

Until then, silent thief... Hannin. 犯人
Doroboo泥棒Chinmoku 沈黙

as Igarashi learned all too well fishing
for a red shoe in the film The Blessing Bell