tyler flynn dorholtnerve_bios_8.html

from AWAY


What people can sense watching abstracts hasten away, the daydreaming where you’re aware

that you’re no point, chance holding down the lie that made me one who is away,

history the richer & more complicated it becomes, only a beginning, one hand on


the pieces I’m going to knock on the hour forming, in my never moon, a stone to

understand imagination at this point, reaching the limit where it must be the full time turn

in the wish, solitary, trees in our hands, that song coming back in a lifestyle,


to control going forward having never been, a plant & since in a stalk to dance it up,

what has always been known of wider betweens, where you grew shorter to perform

on a piano the one-way mass media, connected to that, where I’m more related to my future


scuttling about like moths, trains moving until such a point where the heard becomes action.











My face in public, up tall to tan the make, twinned & when I try to say that I am lost

you split out everywhere the approach, bringing things into a town I must leave,

to make a small condo in technology, in my mouth the recognition of the wind


with the death to revisit, in the simplest way, why you are here pretending not to look,

hearing color & seeing music, the storm charmed in our eyes can follow, & light trundles of

my thin hand dashing interactively with the absence of a bow on the low hum of a drone.


We have put an end to not coming out an American dream, a big push toward letting people

build their own houses, a sturdy wall, life cycles of some 19th century where the United

States kneads its pleated feet with will, open again for the accidents that will happen.


I get kicks down in the cure, fashion in the skins, the research we’re doing with intimacy.