Mourning dove, but mourning? Mourning doves learn queasiness early, they are very alert. The notion of danger, of something not quite right, fires the rocket of their flight. The world is just the edge of nothing, the ace and deuce of super place. In that balls to the wall moment when something of what nature sends dove flying, wings whistle a strong rocket tune. The action inside action finds expression. The sound of mourning is a chosen containment, like you could make this stuff up. People listen to the ludicrous spruce of eulogy, nodding their heads in concert. Mourning dove instead chooses the bullet of flight that finds assay in time. Do you like the endless speech of staring at death while making up life? Mourning dove goes to the moment of attention where verbs brilliantly exist. The one noun in life must know something.
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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