Edited By Nick Piombino - Goodreads

#23
The basis for membership is birth.
The basis for birth is having been not.
Even when it’s not enough, it’s enough.
The first, hopeful, as some say, to a fault
was superceded by a second and the second
by a third and so on. That is how
they came to be details, people living
somewhat inland from the coast.
Isolated by being delivered, surrounded by
the memory of a sensation of a question
which unanswered hardens, this hopefulness,
this small town thing-ness (Thing is dead!
Long live Ness!) becomes one among many
numbered chips to pick up and weigh.
What about this one? And that? Meanwhile
the mind coasts and the underlying lack,
dressed up as an apple and a nap,
grows jealous, picks up the phone. Hello?
Slowly the non-idea of being here
on an impermanent basis, and that is
the basis. You had no idea the whole time
(and that whole-ness is a film being projected
by you and for you but you were asleep,
coasting) you were already a member
of a club that meets each morning, each in his secret,
and isolated (This is part of the there’s-
already-enough-of-you plan) location to lift
it’s voice. Heave ho! How quickly from trying
to figure out how to do a good job following to being led
regardless. The sweet soft focus of uselessness,
the wave’s ruthless indifference to personality
was an occasion for cheer. Here we are, all dressed up
sitting around a ravaged table. We’ve out-lasted
the kitchen and the wait staff. The maitre’di
tells us before turning out the lights we’re welcome
to spend the night. The simplicity of a life,
how it might be spent and how it must be
taken away in all cases was an occasion
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