Someone calls on the hotel phone to say

all the forms you filed have failed to say
the things the forms are filed for. Someone calls
on the hotel phone to say
the world you left for holiday
has vanished    as you have
vanished, out of that world--

Someone calls on the phone to say
the Written Word's discredited,
the Spoken Word -- and has it ever been?
They take your car away.

Someone on the phone has called only to say
the Huge Hotel consumes the signs
by which the world is strung --
nothing but rooms
	surrounded by light --

This is how it is.
How it seems.
Seems for me.
How Being seems.

Some deep displacement
tussles with the norms --
dislodged, but not too far,
(not far enough
for abject force
to storm relief.)

I think so.
A black hat on a white
table
        budges
on its own whim --
as if that. As if
the crockery jiggled
from some
          metaphysical
		impertinence, some
	principle askew, some
	   arguable
	    invariant
	     discredited
       after all...

At your very premis
a hairline fracture
rigs the whole.

No thought remains.

No law obtains.

Bright sun is all.