As if everything were something. You see rife but each grain bears a word. Words don't stop: shadow frame fields . A geology of words promulgates some statute of promise. Whole worlds needs forgetting, one syllable at a time. The Ur of thought, city state and grunt. Grains of sand, once aggregate, a moment. Sand has been in process forever, to the limits of +ever as a word. The teeth of water and wind have ground, and have grounded. You feel sand in your shoe since ancient times and now. You can only listen minutely, a system of wind and rain that sets your city-state beaming. Here the ancient minute, as you understand.
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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teeth grunts.
Minutely whole
syllables of
rain beam,
only forgetting to listen
to the limits of
words
for once.
The ancient process
is rife with
moments of
something that
feels like forever.