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<title>Something about the nature of poetry and time | Autocento of the breakfast table</title>
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<h1 class="title">Something about the nature of poetry and time</h1>
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<p>I’m writing this now because I have to.<br />Not in some “my soul yearns for this and<br />I can’t help it” way, but in the way that this<br />moment is structured as such, that it is<br />crystallized this way, me writing this, and later<br />you reading it, now for you, later for me,</p>
<p>and this tenuous connection mates me<br />and you forever, combined with each other, two<br /><a href="treatise.html">electrons momentarily entwined</a>. Later,<br />when I’m dead or far too famous for you, and<br />you’re in school, reading my words because it is<br />required reading, I want you to remember this</p>
<p>connection we’ve always had, this<br /><a href="last-passenger.html">spider’s thread</a> hanging between you and me.<br />Which of us is the spider and which is<br />the fly still remains to be seen. To<br />eat, perchance to fly: all of that and<br />more. We can settle all of this later.</p>
<p>Yes, it is you I’m thinking of in your later<br />time: you specifically, not another. This<br />is true for all <math display="inline" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1998/Math/MathML"><mrow><mi>x</mi></mrow></math> such that <math display="inline" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1998/Math/MathML"><mrow><mi>x</mi><mo>></mo><mn>0</mn></mrow></math> and<br /><math display="inline" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1998/Math/MathML"><mrow><mi>x</mi></mrow></math> is a real person, though it doesn’t bother me<br />to write to a fictional figure or to<br /><a href="epigraph.html">a figment</a>, maybe, of my imagination. This is</p>
<p>what you are right now, anyway, <a href="real-writer.html">dear Reader</a>, is<br />it not? I’m talking about my now, of course, not later,<br />which is your now. Later will be my now too,<br />and maybe I’m ultimately writing to a future part of this<br />self: you could very well be me.<br />In fact, you probably are me, <a href="elegyforanalternateself.html">some other version</a>, and</p>
<p>I am you in the past, or what you could’ve been, and<br />at the same time, this isn’t true. Everything is,<br />and nothing isn’t. The difference between “you” and “me”<br />is in name only. Maybe you’ll get this later,<br /><a href="found-typewriter-poem.html">when you’re older</a>, when I’m older, when all of this<br />is something we’ll look fondly back to,</p>
<p>because I do hope to meet you, although much later,<br />and I hope your feeling is the same. All this<br />talk on me and you and you and me we’ll keep between us two.</p>
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