Saturday, September 11, 2004
first line for a poem:
There are no mysteries, all that is left us are questions:
That’s all I’ve got so far.
*
A poem is a wave looking for a shore to break along.
Paradise Lost is a tsunami . . . an epic is a tsunami, taking impressive note of everything as it subsumes it and rolls on.
*
Also, or: Language is one of those Everglade skimboats, zipping through reality. Yes, I know, the boat is real too. It is even an expression of the Everglades, shallow and light. That it zips through, hard loud & mechanical, is what I mean.
And, Abstraction is seven-league boots.
*
Also, or: Ars Poesis: Fat mockingbird on a thin dogwood branch, flopping to get a dried berry, life happy fattening on another's winter, nothing else, no possessions but its life and the dogwood berry’s death.
There are no mysteries, all that is left us are questions:
That’s all I’ve got so far.
*
A poem is a wave looking for a shore to break along.
Paradise Lost is a tsunami . . . an epic is a tsunami, taking impressive note of everything as it subsumes it and rolls on.
*
Also, or: Language is one of those Everglade skimboats, zipping through reality. Yes, I know, the boat is real too. It is even an expression of the Everglades, shallow and light. That it zips through, hard loud & mechanical, is what I mean.
And, Abstraction is seven-league boots.
*
Also, or: Ars Poesis: Fat mockingbird on a thin dogwood branch, flopping to get a dried berry, life happy fattening on another's winter, nothing else, no possessions but its life and the dogwood berry’s death.
