Liberty Beck
Sometimes I Say Too Much & Not Enough
☆ A ☆
i thank the microphone the way i thank
the echo: it both hears the song in what arrives
& amplifies it.
i’ve been told that the present
is made up of the continual invention
of immediacy & obsolescence.
i return & remember
your scribblings
like tiny ‘aha!’ moments
instant & easily forgotten,
how words redact themselves, leaving behind
soft interludes, coming sharply.
always, i am trying
to return to say: i [ ] you
☆ B ☆
i am
oscillating between the stars & everything.
homesick & sentimental for a future
that doesn’t yet exist. i keep
writing words that dissipate,
because i am also constantly disappearing.
i keep writing silly little words
because, like an electric machine,
i am still whirring in action (& always malfunctioning)
☆ C ☆
i imagine when i have all of my notebooks
splayed open
i’ll be overwhelmed by the presence of you
the same way a game of ping pong is overwhelming:
nothing stays still. the gr& narrative continues
the same way the search continues.
a longing to make sense of everything shapeless,
to carve the body of a song out of a myth.
will i one day lie comfortably in lacunae?
occulted words: somewhere to return to
a place to rest after existing in a flux
of stories & copies & songs & memories.
what if the null echoes?
what if you make sense of me?
these spaces: we can recognise but never claim
because ours is a space that we must continue to nourish
☆ ☆ ☆
porridge & ABC soup when you’re feeling ill
jujubes & sweet red bean soup when you’re wounded
barley & honey lemon ginger tea for sore throats
Liberty Beck is probably thinking about disappearing words and fluffy dinosaurs. Some of her writing can be found in Starling, loose pockets, and washing machines.