Poetics was a child stuck in the mountains. Cool, river waters ran downward, from the frozen to the liquid, to the provenance of use. Each word enflamed on the mountainside was read with equivocation, the vocation of equality. Certitude reads a passage, presents assertions, melts slowly with factoids. This is what we learned: The wind was furtherance as Long Knives, under aegis of Clark, march thru water up to their chins. Everyone ‘made it’, except that life extends beyond triumph, and the draining is inscribed. Clark’s brother, William, stayed focused, hung on. Lewis, remember him, made a quick dispatch (what story do we hold to?). Now we read of history, it has children. Poetics children ride thru clouds with express purpose. Nightingales, butterflies, boiling hells that Blake and Dante concocted survive for a preamble after which sulking presides. This refers gently to tomes and wet nurses. Sighs engendered noble closeness. How did the poem stick to the words that were laid out in frontal scape? Star Trek® words flap and weaken. Klingons call on warriors. How do the rest of these statements, stored and readied, shape the perfect poem? We give up too soon. Now the mountain sorts the people who will live and die. This is engagement, children. Some people do not like to transact business with the federation, Commander. Simply that catch all…
Walking is not walking if Gertrude chooses not to walk. The premise: Gertrude Stein is not walking. She may be on a boat, not walking, crossing the wide ocean sea. Leaving inevitable France but not walking. Dramatic but not walking. Sentenced but not walking. There were days of walking but not this day. Reading or just looking but not walking.There were sentences full of walking but not walking. Talking maybe but not walking in or out. A time lived and walking was done then if not now. It was a doing and it was a done. Not forgetting Alice who may have had walking done or even doing. The annals say Leo Stein walked along, up to and including the degree of not walking, along. Those flower names walked along, Matisse, Picasso, Laurencin, in varieties. An adding war or two closed or opened anything jump. Apollinaire in the historical. Languages of shapes and sizes bounding for just the time and a little beyond. And that was the how sentence. In that time but also forward until readi...
Comments