You know you are unique when you have tents in your slumber. The tide of experience rises into various words, some you aren't ready for. The courage of time rotates and you are young. Or old, words cannot tell. And you will be relieved to know, once, a fifth of cotton. Cotton was king when we read about it, but time is grey and whining. We have memories, after all. And what if a poem becomes rational, like the end of a sentence? You will learn to retrieve, but it may be too late.
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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