Sunday, April 26, 2009

Firestorm Lights up Montana Sky

Think of New Zealand containing a dog named Jennifer Aniston. Think of Agamemnon, another dog, ready to conquer Thebes. Think of Theseus, who was smitten by the online presence of Jennifer Aniston, in the history of poetry. Think of poetry, which is ridiculous. You have time for some things, the wings of television spread, and flight is no more than a prime option. Read about the price of loving the spurt of information into the control tower of spring. Think again. Agamemnon put Iphigenia into the list. She was the next step, the birth of wind. Jennifer Aniston is stylized and long television. Ports open for the warships. Death is extreme. Real time is like death without margin. We read and write, a poem, perhaps. New Zealand is full, Janissaries urge pride. Rain is effective in a timeless way. A poem reckons time as a pattern of words and the space between. We are not reading beyond that point now, but someday, when Agamemnon and Jennifer Aniston wed, the crows will sweep the sky emphatically, and the Concord River will recede from it in sullen springtime flood.

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