The idea of the person enters poetics where art and reality, or intentionality and circumstance, meet.

I was eventually to become one person, gathered up maybe, during a pause, at a comma.

People must flatter their own eyes with their pathetic lives. The things I was saying followed logically the things that I had said before, yet bore no relation to what I was thinking and feeling.

This poem is one of a series, all of them elegiac in intention, and subject to the strange forces of mourning that let loose illogical developments, into impossible configurations of thought. The poem is built of non-sequiturs, because that's what's left in the wake of the death. We cannot follow the dead, whether they are persons or ideas. Instead we remain, but in a situation that, in their absence, makes no sense.

A fragment is not a fraction but a whole piece

To some extent, each sentence has to be the whole story.

The idea of the person enters poetics where art and reality, or intentionality and circumstance, meet.