Thursday, August 19, 2004

your turning 

it's not just simply the town of poetry, with so much concerning the edge of night time singing, or the dictates of funny, falling Nepal. there remains a cricket sound, and a trying endeavour, and language hardly fit for beast. yet further into the drill, the mass mountain or valley, and the penetration effect of saying you know. you don't, I don't, and everything feeds on tizzy. a music resides in a portion, luckily, and we're slightly unknown, but the words come together. is this wait a second or a real balancing act? can the politics remain stiff while our buddies rearrange the alphabet? is Ron Silliman writing a poem or what? silently is a good example, and so is the way water, etc. we're all working so hard, as perfect aliens, as registers.

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