Tabula Rasa Rosa

By Sophie Jayne Wortham

Tabula rasa rosa

 

Tabula rasa rosa

 

 

 

the erotic exotic bloom

(our shadow seems to be lagging)

 

 

 

baby-pink delicate weakness

 

still one could refind
a taste for old beauty
spillways of leaping
abyss to azure
extend thin ness ness ness ness
that rusts rustle rond soft spectacle1

 

 

se

e

 

 

blank

a perverse incursion

 

 

 

even in childhood it never came, it was a

fairytale, something to look back on

 


 

A State of Quietus

 

except that it was pink.2 it was not devoid of pink. it was filled with pink. one might question why pink? this feature of pink. hard to evade the connotations of pink.3

 

Tabula Rasa

 

 

roses

baby-pink softness

sugared loveliness4

 

 

 

 

(a state of quietus)

 

silence permeates

‘we’ may

acquit, repress?

 

 

“but you were such good friends”

 

“a relationship of pronouns. that’s all”5

 

 

 

pages torn from old notebooks

and slips of paper los
t

 

 

 

 

 

mildewed contribution blanks establishing

on the cut-off margins reporters the mouth (er)-eaten
writer

 

the gap between what one wants to say and what

one can say6

 

name what is lost, cover the losses

 

smoothness de

form

finish displace

fitness dismantle

decoration destroy

moving sentiment delegitimate

uplift deconstruct

 

all stories interpret

experience, construct

what ‘we’ call experience

car

pe personam

 

desymbolise iconization will you?

 

through ...

 


 

Language a kind of farewell

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

an instant

black

though

moments

are not so

coloured

how to acknowledge alterity,

 

the margin

ality and speak

from its

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Centre is silence

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

HIS

torical sedimentation r

 

i s

 

e

to consciousness

(there was an other side, a space not above, inbetween but

 

B
E
L
O
W

into which

muffled voices throb without their names
it, whatever the term, falls out of ra ng

e

 

such regular registers,

as corporations,

justifications

 

 

 

 

 

foliage ripped from old diary

and mildewed donation blanks establishing

on the cut-off margins newspapers the mouth (er)-eaten

writer

slipped

 

 

 

 

 

 

it is what it is

what it is is it

 

 

 

 

 

little words

 

 

 

(this gridlock of possessives
occupies the place
once held by

 

 

Distance)

 

 

 

beauty renders such a perfect signification mpo

Ssible

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

float by boundaries

 

 

 

 

wisdom is injected into
the cries of the world so one can

 

 

 

Give rise to ThiS spot.

(where silence will not erect its monument)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

softly asphyxiate

sof

 

tl

 

softly

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the ballerina

pending in the prison

of glass in this

shimmering

vacant kingdom

sof

t l

y

 

 

(baby-pink softness)

RED

 

 

 

 

 


 

The lapse looms

 

 

(a grey mist covers what was

clouds glowering in the nooks of soft valleys)

 

 

 

 

 

Dead as the Distant Snatch

the looming empty weight of emptied time

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the words gather impetus

wash over their sheets of insomnia

 

 

 

ruptures

 

 

 

 

is it possible to know where a word ends and my use of it begins?

Or to locate the ledge of your promises to lean my head on?

 

 

 

(baby-pink softness) the black tongue curls

 

 

 

 

“I cannot heave / My heart into my mouth”7

 

 

(the erotic, exotic bloom)

 

 

 

the white

between

the ink