The day of clicking sent roots precariously, which just happened to wake bear. Bear ran the riverside and verse, tending toward a blossoming blueberry bush. Bear is sleek as you are surprised. To feed is to fill the hole that winter was. Pardon the river as it straddles the landscape in gust. Bear is indignant, did not vote for Bush. Obama, this is a network containing words felt for rollicking and timeless leasing proposals. Our country, if you are we, resists pragmatism as surety. Bear contingent opts for prose poems, nowadays. Grains of sand stricken from the record have resurfaced as moons around Saturn. These just piles of impressive dust in circles of inflection will likely fall into the well of the gas giant's heart. Whereas bear, straining for population, maintains an amble of intent beyond such tug. It is all Idaho and the miracle of margin. I once wrote a poem, said John Milton. What??? we replied. The roots of Cromwell's clicking remain with us, so poetry seems thin. Alas and the day of bolting bear.
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...
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