over there


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.           

intertextual transient potential: is a variety of hypertext transport proto- colwhere surface, reader,and con-tent,all entwinein a medleyof readerly (inter)textualproductionsthat cannot be tracedin all their intricacies of motion


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.



looking up I saw
the belly of a boat glide over water that was out of my reach.


i am nowhere.

ashes and air
explode upwards
every angle of self.

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



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...


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,


Diane Caney, 1996

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

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