there is a cue
I am not aware of it directly
but when it occurs
I can see and hear and feel
a sudden and universal shift and change
in all things
in the world around me
I do not understand what it was
or what it has done
I only know that it has occurred
and that it has left me afraid

I am visible
I am a tall body
in a long coat
with deep pockets
I am so underwhelmed
I am not familiar with the image
and appearance of my reflection
as though I could stifle the reflection
of scorched soil and dried oceans
I will write about this place

watching the city skyline
the vital horizon
break at my shores
and swirl high above me
holding myself to the light
and my cup runneth over

I am at once
in the time of clean collars
breathless and meaningless
disposable and functional
inevitable and blind
howling at the very small
and passing into the very large

let there be cake
and in jokes
cracked half in my hands
let there be no more self portraits
and one name for ten heads
counted in fifties and hundreds
let me disappear completely
let me be familiar in my absence
let me be found

I have a fear of heights
I have words for all things
that are the case
and a void for all
that are not
I am afraid and I
return to
run.

9:31 am  •  21 May 2013

I will write about this place


there are bones.

there is muscle.

there are nerves.

there is skin.


there is light.

9:41 pm  •  24 April 2013

I am forgotten
much as I have packed less boxes
each time I have moved

there is a great scale
in what comes next
in the endless horizon

I am manhandled
court marshaled
and released

I walk with the sun
in the shadows
under the soles of my heels

I am lighted
lighter than
and aware of an event

the genesis of something
god, the world, or myself
a proud laughing stock

a great gone wrong
as something other than I
must have done

- - -

seasick grin

in my hands there is an envelope
in the envelope there is a letter
but there is no body in the letter

in my head there are eyes
and an endless horizon
but the sea brings me no change

10:28 pm  •  21 March 2013

he sits back
and smiles briefly
with his entire body

     I suppose there is a god

he says

     and God must be
afraid of me

his hands shake
and his cough
is worse

richard taught me
to distrust fiction
particularly fantasy
he warned me
of happy endings
and the moral elsewhere

steady repetition

he begins plainly

the world is large enough
for you to find a new place
for each mistake you make

he orders oatmeal and coffee

throw a knife at the wall
see if you can get it to stick

he draws or writes on his napkin

throw a pen at the wall
see

he coughs and thanks the waitress

I am not assured now
that I know the
impermanence of the mind
over
the permanence of the page

he sits up and sips coffee

we are an archivalist species
we record and save and revisit

he sugars his coffee
stirs and sips again

breathe deep

two beats

youth
two years
great waves of it

he burns his tongue on hot oatmeal

I cannot eat
I cannot sleep
and if I go to the bathroom
or kitchen I see too many
ill means

he sits back

no saint in
unquestioning silence has
undone the individual

he returns to my eyes
as dirty rice
still rising

his food
if not now
will soon be cold

nothing I say next
will make as much sense

12:10 pm  •  3 February 2013

this marks the end of “acktor”. it’s been an incredible venue for my growth as a human and a writer, and there are pieces here I’ll always hold dear to my heart. and several more I’ll look back on with the strongest regret! but the time has come for me to move on from this particular home.

however, I intend to keep writing. I’m starting a new project titled “run. / zero” with a very specific purpose. I’ve been nervous lately that my understanding of words and their syntax has been lacking, so my plan with this project is to start small, with word-based experiments, noting the way simple words relate and change meaning in sparse, short arrangements. over time, the pieces will grow longer, I imagine. but for now, I’d like to limit myself to a very exact point.

thank you for following and supporting acktor. if you would like to follow “run. / zero” and spread the good word to others, I’d be terribly appreciative. see you there!

-Devin

PS: there is one draft left in acktor’s saved posts. it is a discarded version of liquid world. enjoy.

12:06 pm  •  3 February 2013

push
stop
pull
run.

12:31 am  •  31 January 2013

love is four motions
a grocery list of aches
and a storm of black sparks

postured in the waking hours
living in a field bare
moving left to right

giving a voice to all things
crying mercy or a revolution
paying bills, covering bones

love comes softly
as the witch hunts
starting fires

and it is in this moment
that I am learning
a place called nervous break

7:50 pm  •  30 January 2013

I am. civil provocateur.
I welcome the nongods 
ever exhaling
living in the forest bare
ignorant yet faithful

I am. oceans.
wolves lasting
an endless night
sand reckoners
great attractors

I am. with them.
they walked
and there will be
no intervention
measuring lightness
by a great weight

I am. in a fog.
as it was over
it had begun
as driven
under humor

I am. in a word,
the poem is
run.

11:30 pm  •  17 December 2012

the twentieth of october
I would like to write the perfect poem; I believe it would have one word. I may be misguided.

the fourteenth of november
this morning I woke to my alarm clock and the mirror saw itself in me. I do not trust my senses.

the ninth of december
I am sitting as a passenger in a moving car at night, watching the scenery lit in constant passing by the car following behind.

8:41 pm  •  9 December 2012

you should love books
but I mean my books

I communicate
my vision of being

simple and wide

we meet
in upstate new york

the center of colorado
or the bottom of the atlantic ocean

you are not a curse
you are a swear

I am not complicated

you are a revolution
you take too long

I am afraid of those
whose only deterrent is morality

you are sand reckoner
wolf or great attractor

I can swim

12:37 am  •  25 November 2012