Simple Theories

 in the shape   of something   private yet   explicit   in geological   terms to rub   the fancy off   the age of   stone a   plover of a   word formed  

  cobble stones on fire, cars uprooted, it was a strange nexus and bright bolt. We knew we would be younger than today, always that same stress-tone and nodding after. Bison as big as, feeling entitled promise and big years. We weren’t arranged so properly and too bookish but as the fit of time and wheat stalks in fields swaying. We proposed without exactitude but in flinty response a spark. It could constitute a binge but did not. All this in the certain year and then. Now produces a traffic of manyness, meeting and entreating as simplified breath. It would be stone wonderful to follow into an Idaho of history and dimension, mapped by eyes and invited steps. Lewis died with extinguished story, Clark stayed announced. Today old mongering remains in shivering, unplacid worldview by shaky virtue of amazing wither. Rightly leaning wrong in crossfire, purpose beyond completion, our own gravity stoked for how we  intended  the lucid green, at our feet, at our hands, at all rou...

  Emily told you by scuffle stern zigzag momentous à propos among flowers and cups grave assumptions (not easily your friend) which prepares butterflies to vanish Emily told you tolled you chordate chanson trying to locate in the new place rejection now makes the fresh symposium think the thunder thru lean jazzing controvert

  the believing dying that works out with reference to a truck formally hitting bike And person both the brain severely And other things Of living that show Dying like a trait and tradition And you will knowing eventually Encumber with the snap Of a voice of Understanding or so You say this Evening

  distant book Activated a clear verbal horizon ( expressed as eager ) while Creeley as dazzling spiegel wrote dour unreturning sprites and Hart Crane did not swim so much

  when you press on a word and it gives a little AND when the word presses on you and you give up  some poems and selected poems and some other poems collected collecting and Robert browning in the last collation  the sly catastrophe of just being a fame of associated words and their sounds and their soundings  the modern novel and equally modern short story is as old as the hills but they establish a projection that incandesces as matter as in What Is The Matter Here? a novel approach  Creeley reeled din and out

  Robert Creeley’s hat: was it a one time thing? Surely those who read this person’s poetry knows something you do not know. Even ifyou read poems by Robert Creeley, do you float or fall? Are exagerations enough in the long run? This person adapted to poetry, with the bearing books, somehow. While exploding in the pure banshee of poetry, did the famous name of Creeley exactly or not elect and pronounce? The flat planet of bickering holds. The poet may have said ‘fuck’ with his chance vocabulary. On towards a mistral. No Things But In Ideas, with riverine reward. You don’t stop for words, you attach and going. So Creeley eventually had but one eye, and the heroics of being too much. So lovable. Robert Creeley as a writer, and particularly as one who writes poetry, reminds reader of words, some, and trails leading to sources and severances, and mystical conjectures surfacing. Meanwhile the dative case of human interaction circles and just about drowns while twirling, that is, the lif...