Valery Kourinsky

02.27.1999

TOUCHABILITY STANCE

 

Touch on the essence starts with touch on skin
of all that may be thinkable
as covered with and saved by it,
by that elastic shell of all that lives.
And we are here softbound.
And every core again gets a new outward skin part,
when we it mine and scrape and cause its bleeding.
The touchable encompasses reality,
the touchable is bearing everywhere,
and we must sweep our hands on everything,
which thanks to that transforms in keyboard.

I beg you: lip my soul, darling, palp
my years on their delicate bark,
take dots of space which is my dear belongings so far,
the commas of the downy surface of the feelings,
handle warming whiles for winter day of yours
that may abruptly happen in the very middle of a summer.
Scuff with your sight the brow of my waiting,
construct my hearing
by tickling it with sounds of your voice.
Be touchable to life --
it needs the tactile facts for wholeness of it.
We all are kind of tactors to each other,
we all are drawing a sublime landscape
with finest hair of external tentacles,
which are much more important, than the rest
of our fleshy smart appliances
which are and visible and known.

But touches grow old,
when they don't perfect essence.
But hugs get emptiness to huggle,
when they want only volumes but not values
and surfaces instead of depths that must be underneath
not to let me be one out of the scheduled