Q: Am I teasing you?
A: A parade of confessions:
1. I have begun to think of this as a painting. Matisse says he paints the things he
wants to see. By Matisse, I mean Picasso. By Picasso I mean that I do not know
what this would look like if I could see it. This will be our definition of loam.
2. I am uncertain whether the things I have stated with such conviction are true. In
fact, I have no recollection of writing many of those things. This will be our definition
of a river.
3. I have developed an acute sensitivity to earthquakes. I am aware of even the
slightest tremor. This may be related to my intimacy with the soil. By the soil, I
mean Celandine. By Celandine, I mean the moment when seismology takes a lover.
4. I have begun to think of this as a series of fluctuations.
5. The shortest distance between two people is not a smile. It is Zero. The shortest
distance between symmetry and loss is Design. The shortest distance between Design
and Zero is a mirror.
With all this in mind, we may have a new geography.
Q: What is the longest river in the world?
Richard Froude
Ann M. Fine
In an effort to describe (for plundering sample)
the essence of something; I pick LEAF;
following the direction of an amiable kind
of cartographic memory : maybe the need
to understand complexity (explore)
simplicity the fine line—I go toward
yes the very one
that lies worn and
microscopically defiant (as homely and metabolic
as worm) that eats its way
between consciousnesses like ours-
[romancing in the darkness]
and the myth
that a grave language wants
to be and is
speaking through—like
unexplained cravings
spiritual and ontological cravings
in which you want something you cannot have
unpossessible things
that swim,
unborn,
and gum
or suckle the underbelly of your life
(let leaves cover lips do not press) waive
issue—
not of text but of texture, not unpopul…
Epoc!
of lost names
of sleep’s precious agonies
the lonesome ache of good
Music:
Caletre de la pesadumbre
(judgement, acumen, keen insight
and weight, and grief) infamously
desirable, as desire of;
music of foreignness with each
foreign object
each color each separation
stanza
onomatopoetic onomatopoeia on um
auto pick…ahhh
About technicalities, please
pardon our
dust. Our
domesticalities / wild
points where you lose your we
lose; forgive me; our
identity, it. Us.
A part and from,
between.
Lover & beloved;
two-halved perceived points;
flashing in the gaps;
entered, entering
the lines’
verbose vinesong
between
may
be
LEAF / light
and
or
star.
You can tell a lot about someone from their bookmarks. For the reader, they perform a vital role. They are guardians standing in the way of threads being lost, plot points missed. They are a fixed point, a sliver of paper standing between the gulf of what went before and what is yet to come, like some Dickensian ghost. It is not a job to be given lightly, so we choose our bookmarks wisely.
