No. It doesn’t matter, because it’s a little block. Really? You don’t need to understand the intentions (see tab) so much as you already are; you are needed to know. It was from the weekend book that I learned that a Redbreast or Ruddock is a Robin, as if I didn’t know. It was from the weekend book that I learned it is possible that a meal worm is irresistible bait. now that was news. somewhat more news than not: a hen may gestate for only nineteen days, a sow for one hundred and nine, an ass for an entire year.
more than an entire year. a horse, instead, in a pasture? requires six gallons of water a day. i remember, as auden wanted me to, that “there is / no recognized gift for this; / no income, no bounty, / no promised country.” this too, “for later other,” takes me back to the ESSO station with e.b. for a nibble on the curb. how i love and miss that dirty curb.
you know? i didn’t mean to, not too much, to set the snare too low in the brush. i was coming for you, and i was wrestled down by the weather and the webs. no trace of you, but plenty of dust.
i will never finish this later.
lived at snow hill at new port at mount mouth shire…spilled from the gates of the abbot; you can’t forget these things. ever. we were deprived of the clouds. we were nervous from all the encouragement the animals were disappearing about. we were naive to remark about the brutality of the ordinary. you remember which voices were found guilty back there? don’t look back there. i’m saying remember. i’m saying tell me your holy orders. i’m saying the air is bland and the verses are homilies and the bitch is on her knees! wear mouth, wear jaw, wear teeth, get dressed and hurry up. what’s about to happen is so chronicle its headed for the hymns. we weren’t the favorite but we loved our blindfolds anyway; i just mean remember. it was one scanty clue after the other. hand me the key to rome, it’s getting too many out here…
By: errantknave on March 26, 2008
at 3:18 am
Austere, strong, gay, impression…
I wonder she meant. I wonder. But, my underling, you are as culpable in your error — sweet carola, charon, chorus, choir — as the bound and gagged.
Not enough. Give it time. Panic isn’t everything, but it is a video of wilderness falling from the screen. Panic is too severe — really. Gifted, come forward.
Startling hermit. Poor tremble high in the branch– you can do better.
By: errantknave on March 26, 2008
at 3:31 am
So it’s a choice is it?
By: errantknave on March 26, 2008
at 4:00 am
It will do us good to honor the sudden appearance of rivers. It has been a long flight from fancy.
What do you mean — where?
Aren’t you, as I am, in touch with the possibilities? I forwarded the contact information in my hand shake with you. On the bridge? Saturday?
The weekends are nothing but thieves.
By: errantknave on March 26, 2008
at 4:03 am
Drift.
the river is a rare remainder, is a “try again” trying again. the bank’s calculations, impeccably distracted, slowly become inured to their muddy supplantment.
the rain is the river’s news. the rain is the river and the news in the river of the river is not red but runs in circles which weren’t meant to disguise a lie. weren’t meant for men or to be managed like men are managed. the rain is a rumor, relished and rude, within which a rude man is confused to rise, to stroke a little stroke, to growl from his rounding mouth. his tongue is a little viola when he runs in the rain; his heart is a little faster. a man is running in the rain for no reason.
the man must be removed;
we are reminded.
away along the rarity of his own river…
is this the opposite of narration?
Or a remembering re-membering.
By: errantknave on March 31, 2008
at 11:35 pm
They had something they called “The Great War.”
We late-comers do not remember much, but we’re anxious to find out, though mostly we just opt out–no, I don’t think much about this
activity.
By: errantknave on March 31, 2008
at 11:50 pm
She writes; “God hates me.”
She doesn’t even like God.
By: errantknave on April 2, 2008
at 9:56 pm