Imbued

How can the interface between here 
     and there:
  the screen:
        be anything 
               but intertext,
                 no text, a shining
                 
                 
                 pond that ripples
                   with the startling gaps
                      betwixt many a text,
                    hall of mirrors,
                 tangled web ...?
                 
                 
                 
                 surface suggests a final film 
               of completion --
                    a deception 
                which cannot last
             when readers 
               and realities
               of every kind
                are always
                inter
                reacting
                                                under
                                        looking up I saw 
                         the belly of a glass boat glide
         over water -- slippery fluid which was dreaming 
  about reaching into a sky it could only ever stare at,
                endlessly ... unless someone could imbue 
               the dark liquid with imaginative life ...
                 enabling a transition from 
                 senseless substance
               to creature 
            of immense
         mobility and
      mind and might.
           

 ittp://surface.reader.content...
intertextual transient potential:
	is a variety of hypertext 
transport 
proto-
		col
where surface,  
                       reader,
and 
con-
tent,
all 
entwine
in a medley
of readerly 
(in
ter)textual
productions
that 
cannot
		be traced
in all their
		intricacies 
			of 
	motion

 
 
  surface

there is no
such thing as surface: texts
lie when they discuss this impossibility.
How can the interface between here and there
ever be called surface? I call it intertext, no-text, the gap
between two texts, mirror even, or tangled web, but surface suggests
completions that simply don't exist when readers and realities, of every sort, inter ... react.

 
 
 

 
 
  betwixt

i am nowhere.

ashes and air
explode upwards
shattering
every angle of self.

disintegrating peripheries
force
every touch,
desire
and intuition
into an ever-expanding oblivion ...

 
 
 

ascent

bubbles
rise to the surface
to reach the fresh air.
i watch them explode into nothing but light.

 
 
 

lines of poetry

supratextual images float above their skin
and form enmeshments with the actual poem.
like parallel lines they hover over the words,
remaining the same distance away, always...

 
 
 

stigmatism

uneven surfaces
affect my sight.
i wish my eyes
were as smooth
as the face
of my grandmother's watch.

  she stares
from a photograph,
at someone over my shoulder.
her gaze is sultry and dark;
her mood,
absent.

 
 

Diane Caney, 1996

 
  Visit surface:
an e-collabo ration, assembled by Robin Petterd and Diane Caney,
which intertexts with this suite of poems.