Shape Chat. Shape!

I see that things have a shape, but what that means I can’t say with certainty. But that is not my position. My position is shapely. I will not shape my position, but it is certainly shape-driven.

There is a shape, and here is a shape. Life takes shape, and non-life. Non-life. I do not know what that is. I am surrounded by what I do not understand.

I do not have explanations when certainly my poems would be served by better explaining myself. Is it work, family, that arrests my shape talk? No, it is not.

I am drawn to God’s announcement to Moses, not that he is, but that God says, “I am.” That distinction, or division (what defines necessarily divides) is intrinsic to belief and passion, or passionate belief. God can say “I am.” I cannot say “He is.” Logically I can, but logic does not always apply.

 

I am not trying to make some kind of butt-headed point, though I think it often appears that I am.

I cannot say much without severing a kind of thread(“-like shape,” I suppose).

I am a pathetic flute-playing lunatic. No, I am a pure amateur. This is a kind of fulfillment of the English Ideal I was suckled on. Right?

Well, I love you and I love poetry and life. So that you will not be derided for your judgment, see that I was born in the sin of shape.

People like me, we add nothing new.

But is that kind of honesty worth anything either? I have no technique for criticizing others, except to say, so what. Well, so shape. So hope. So we’ll see. So what.

I love poems that do the right thing by poetry. What is that.

That’s all for now. Thanks for reading.