The day renders green thru the wind and furnishings of the moon. The moon was shadowed tonight, well known, frosted, and passed. The night is our beginning. In effects of season and instrument, we have pulled tiny things from large and vaulting. This is creative, like the shadow capturing the moon’s garden. Now the wind, a doorway of sorts, continues. Testaments and words continue, fitted to stations, and the river rattles on. We love the river. It fends for the landscape and twists thru the orchard. The orchard holds our apples, bright and uncontested. Each apple is a sun, uncontested. We love the river, traveling on.
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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