The, To
Jake Syersak

In Paris circa November of 2007, I saw Monet's original Impression, Levant Soleil. As if the umpteenth fold on a metronome could promise a paper swan definition, I needed right at that moment what was creased & odd in an acoustic like a run-on sentence the emergency of graffiti on a toilet stall wall.

I wrote, to utter absence is to the, a window: a clean space for speech.

On paper, the slightest asymmetry is traceable to the speckled opacity in glass. Letters like the windy blur of a word can't quite equate the grace of an egret's wing.

Address the word not-as-directly, like a kayak's oar the ocean.

To utter absence is to the, a window. Where I let a rowing moor pry a the nonpoint, where sounds as the eyelet are owing more to formlessness than form of sound

Monet sawed his eyes out attacking the see-saw of waves. The, ignored; Unentered. W/ exclamation points for sails, our oars orbiting the expanse of ocean. Enter the o, emphasis on the. O words.

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