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Page 254

This page seems blanker – more stubbornly blank, then
the preceding page – something to do with knowing I have only
three pages left to fill, three pages in which to tie everything
together or blow everything apart, three pages in which to shock
and awe you or tell you the secret of "having" or leave you
obsessed with some indelible image that, like a seed crystal,
extends glittering facets to transform this entire book into
intricate, precise crystal, makes all its planes (aren't pages planes?
or are they fancies?) – makes them resonate, so that when you
tink a fingernail against any part of this book, the whole of it
produces a single, pure, rich, enduring sound.

Let it be MY sound, too, my own ringing "I Am,"
or at least that of Dean Blehert – a fully evoked presence.
If I can leave him here, confident of his ability to survive
on these pages indefinitely, subsisting on crumbs of admiration,
then I can move on, become a forest or the iridescent wing
of a house fly or, maybe, a concert pianist (that is, I can become
the iridescent wing of a concert pianist) or an ornate
door knob, or I could spend a few centuries being
the word "the" or the letter "e" or perhaps "p", so that
every time you encountered that word or letter, we could
exchange greetings.

This page is now accepting my words less reluctantly.
It has forgotten it's very near the end. It doesn't FEEL
like "very near the end." It feels like it could rattle on
forever.

What if I've become "e" already? Yes, here I am! Look, Ma!
And here again. E E E (hee hee hee!) Whee! Essence
of Dean and Blehert. Body of Tee and Pee and Vee and Cee
and me. Not a man of letters, but a letter of men, see!
(But so common!) Now YOU be E, and I'll be U!
E can comb hair. U can hold water. I can be a spool on which to wind
this endless thread of words.

(Now I'm the word "moreover". Look, Ma! No ands!)

(I think I'm going into a comma.)

Note: Stanza 1: Re pages as planes: If the flat page isn't plane enough, you can tear it out and fold it into one (a paper airplane).

"E can comb hair. U can hold water. I can be a spool...". I am (as I hope you noticed) describing the shapes of the letters – E as a three-pronged comb, U as a cup, I as a spool (unless some idiot reprints this in a sans serif font, so that I becomes I with no spool-like extensions at top and bottom). All three letters approximate pronouns (E = he, U = you, I is or am I).

2nd from last line: "No ands!" – No hands. (Or No hands, hips or butts.) One would not need the word "and" if one were willing (as people who overuse the word "one" often are) to use "moreover" instead.

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