word-of-mouth salvation and the great leaning back
on a long walk down coasting hills steps without weariness, an ease fell across me and subtly, in whispers, i wrote a book of poems so searing that the poems themselves wander the earth teaching other poems to burn scorching the violets and weeping willows and spreading (which is almost certainly a quality of grace) across continents and upstream on highwater rivers into the breaths of those living and wall-lining folk, feeding the torn-flip-frenzy of the dead below and making (as from paper machette) light from dark and dark from light- upending the inside of slow-witted fellows and drawing sighs from the feverish women. getting home, the smell of stale smoke, a cracked beer, cigarette, watching the unfolding phantasm of wandering poems fill the earth with sweat and fury and blissful sleep i put my feet up on the coffee table and forgot the poems while i took a nap. you make your trades when you can.
2004-09-12 | 2:28 p.m.
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