Winter settled in, conglomerate. Grape leaves browned expertly to the end . A constitution settled facts, a moment of frisson. You recognized the imminence of laying low. Lower still in a cold field. Transitory streams turn breathless, the imagination absconds. Did you expect all death, sweeping plenty, or just possibilities of loss. Youth is impossible. Crows stack upon cold winds, culling flight from the air. Exemplars fade into forensic duty. Such words have never before been possible. A poem on these rocky shores seems, just seems. Attitude towards the sun marks solstice, even so. And this is as quiet as you can become, listening as always. Now recognize day as a simple patch.
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