Saturday, December 29, 2012

Saturday commute lxxiv: Crime of the upturned face ii

Without thinking to book-end
the year by resuming a train
I have been wondering how much
there literally is of parting,
of leave-taking in the taking,
in our address of the upturned
face. We suppose, there cannot
be liberty until so little re-
mains of this ambiguity, which
we know cannot dissolve. Still
more to the point, I wonder if
2012 will not be remembered in
this country as a year of pro-
found interpretive deliverance,
caused by the emergence of a
class so steeped in compulsory
anguish, no suspension could 
relieve it; so long compelled 
to die, its refusal finally 
lanced a humane trepidation.

Was it true: that phobia were a
fear, not a scruple? If we did 
not end that sense of parting,
in our rapport with the upturned
face, had we seen an end of fear 
of it?

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