R/ckets and S/ntries

process loves abandonment. stray indications float
on a map necessitated by during and the
upheaval close to interstate. one can name 'specifics',
using the view from some steep hill. the paradox
rolls out of the bending river and the radical use of
nods and winks. this is the alien part. autumn is a
chute and context, and a lot of talking before
movement includes diameter and matrix and
the total loss of language in the spun out
spark of literal haze over boundaries and autumn. yeah,
autumn broke a nose or two, twisted distinctions
into a stern colour and mobilized, fuck this
shit and so forth. no one wants such useless
distraction amidst a ponderable occasion. the
woods move sullenness back a page, turning tricks
with breath and you bet. better still
is one place, or it is another. you stuck to a
judgment then bent with the river. the river itself
is between one land and another, and neither
side consists of tragic results. Little
Kanawha runs thru Glenville
West Virginia, under safe stars and a
waxing moon. in such a speck
looms a house, well built and an idea.