In Egypt, with plenty of Pharaohs fitfully thru time, Arthur Rimbaud arrived, born on the intoxicating floods of the Nile River. As a famous river, the Nile could feed young Arthur properly, with ideas of flooded landscapes and taxonomies of timeless reputations. Deities of a florid sort would suggest sudden moments, and Arthur would react with crash and aplomb. He was a spirit and his was a spirit, et cetera. In the few years of its existence, the Nile has taken on incredible feasance. So much insistence on somewhere, to the lowest level. Arthur could only be taken. It seems like a vast effort, with remarkable power, yet vindication is near. Thus Arthur saw the world, Arthur Rimbaud, with the rapturous waters performing as his eyes. The buoyant Pharaohs, rooted so heavily in the sands of time, and the marshes thereof, drew gods and goddesses as witnesses to wild words and sandstone. Wind filled the space between actions, and Arthur’s words formed airy islands and earmarks, colours and tones. He saw vowels, naked and assured thru the welter of Nile power. One could insist on dreaming of a buttress of Sphinxes, crouched thru the long years of a young night. Arthur Rimbaud in extreme vitriol and smack wrote grace as a serving spoon and built the projected maze of Poetry’s grounding, or so fustion can assert. What the Pharoahs will learn from Rimbaud may never be clarified. Language has its boundaries to exceed, where music cannot go. Flood as a serving idea shall not break. Arthur Rimbaud begins in a moment.
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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