Any day a cat or a
library or something incendiary. Everyday like a leaf losing
chlorophyll for the moment of winter. Everyday as ribbons of clouds
settle vast questions under the possible theory of sky. Everyday like
warm rain on the exact moment of finally. The earth accepts words tho
not made of them. People accept earth tho not made of it. Stars plink
tiny lutes just for the sake of metaphors and trees. Nothing settles
anything. Winter has a reply, rain is a consequence of no rain. Time
feeds the place where we said something else. We can say something
again, rose and rise.
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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