The sour propositions flick call the pope of envy. The rauls edge to horizons made of muddy pants. We were young in the clutch, the dinging crown blow full of effort, It’s all a wonder, tuck in the cambric. We live in that standing loss of wind and wild, given the stirrup redolence, caught in praxis. It begins again, only in words, because only words strike only anything. The sentence is a test, a phrase is a second, only a portion of the anything. And you are. You are the time and it is now. You are the phrase that fills, and sentence told to all. You cannot stop a flower, gone is gone. The poem only grows in the words hanging hanging. What time is love? What time is our holding? You are the only only only. Word.
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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