THE BORDER IS ALL

September 24, 2018 at 2:25 pm (Scarriet Editors)

As soon as you begin reading this, you’ve crossed

Into it. This poem exists because you are able to cross

Into it. Otherwise it wouldn’t exist.

Existence requires borders. Everything. Even a list.

Why is life perplexing? There are places you go,

And places you don’t go. That’s all you need to know.

Why is this so difficult? A note in music has a certain duration

Or it’s not a note among the notes of that composition,

Which is—is the audience ready?—playing only when it’s playing,

Just as this poem is here only for the time it’s saying what it’s saying.

If there is a place which is happy, outside of it is nothing, or sorrow.

Happiness today is made of borders—keeping away sadness tomorrow.

The world is mathematically round to keep the non-mathematical out.

The world is measurement and order. Beyond is misery and doubt.

The poem—I’m not inventing it—will keep you here, until it throws you out.

The poem has both of us—I, the poet who saw it first, and then, you;

The poem took you when you entered it; finally, what are you going to do?

The place you entered, and the place you exit, keeps out what’s bad.

The poem keeps out, but also, to be a beautiful poem, contains the sad.

This poem, like all existence, has a border,

But sadly, is a border only. Beauty walks the walls. And now gives the order.