YOU are the force of sand. Ground to implication and scatter, yet effectively centered. You can boast the briskness of being there, which is here, the element. The polis of integrity, the politics of iota combine like irritation. You are voice as a single word, a document, a sentiment. You can be the ocean itself, waiting in terms and process. So buck up, you are clear, unclaimed, and constant. You smack the beachheads and warzones, and even bear a name thru crossfire winds. The sentence cannot exist without you.
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...
Comments