Saturday, November 30, 2013

Howitzer, Flowers, Blondie, Alit

I am working on something which could be a book-long situation, rambling and, in the end, when it comes right down to it, should one hold its pulpy feet to a figurative fire, with a point. Here is one page of what I suspect will carry on to 60 or so.

Writing as if we are starting again will not do, nor as if we are ending anything. It being understood we are not correcting or correct. Writing that is writing will not do, that is not writing should have thumb to wrist pulse. Poetries that borrow tableware are fine indeed. I can’t keep track of everything I think or feel. A woman writing who falls for every bloody sunset but will not be dictated to. Whom one cannot dictate to. Who, dictator, will do. Woman like trees and trees unlike women. The word Woman, the mention of trees. Writing as if capitulating or canvassing, catapulting, all these like fresh vegetables for sale, all in a line, in wooden crates that may have served another purpose. The draft animal, the decommissioned howitzer. I like a truck that drives like how cold rivers make me feel inside. Inside here, where poems sprout like hats falling from a shelf.  

There are a couple items here I can discuss for those who like discussion. Though why anyone in this day and age wants to discuss anything, unless they have to, like, for work, is beyond me. We are like the birds of the air except we tweet and chirp in flight, alit, feeding, and a-fuck. Lord. Anyhop, I like the word "poetries" which I think covers a lot and allows to whatever one imagines it covers proper dignity. Did I ever tell you that I was in a Blondie video? Heart of Glass, as a dancer, me and friends and a lot of people. Back to the poem, and certain images or thoughts occur which should not be held to account. Everything here is my fault. No poet advances anything, thought they are marvelous at suggesting or offering up the category of advancement. Liberace had his candlesticks as poets have their advancement. What Percy Shelley said about poets being the unacknowledged legislators of the world is nothing to how he got to that statement. There was a time when people cared how one got to one's statements, and that time was when one was young and in school, not when that same person, let's say, came to teach. No, we can afford to age, but that is not a blanket endorsement.

I am happy to employ the word "howitzer" for the ages. It hardly matters what we say. "What." What does the moon say? If the moon says only I am the fucking moon, you have everything you need to know about either what the moon says or might say. What's the difference? Maybe that you ask. Okay, so you ask. What, you want a medal for asking questions? Let's do that. Let's give everyone who asks questions a medal, just as we water the starving flower.

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