writing poetry or relearning an agony - an old agony but somehow anew with an askance tying up: and balloon fiddling unlike fiddling with a "scratching" of stretching leather -
i have to forget the paragraph - but somehow have to remember the beginning luck of an ******* - like it might be: the thought-riddle-luck of a physicist and a play of juxtaposing interludes / punctuation i.e. via: bang (the) big hole, black...
somewhere in the distance a pillar akin to charles olson - and like this: there's nothing to give but always something to borrow - some ref. point because: my own new or old raw - or a fear like a shadow that is itching beside a body - or a relentless architecture of skeleton: esp. when piled into a heap with that fine fine rubric of: all is love togetherness: tough knotting - some unbelievable chasm that's 20th century historicity... that's never what is a journalism of metaphors and... the essential stay for children in the gorgon eyes of pedagogy...
some 15 years too late to have an accomplished sentence to a trade that is a believability of 100 thousand nails but only one hammer - perhaps a ship to boast about... i.e. a very tiny projection of quantity: contradicting itself through original intent: retaining a quality of 100 brave souls - longing for a depth of an unsinking...
perhaps everyone in an utopia is myopic - i wouldn't dare spell: b.l.i.n.d. although now i'll think about the acronym like it's (somehow) necessary - it's not a heart-transplant; me-ode-you: a body of borrowed limbs and limping emotions - basking (in the) limelight (of an) indignant nuance (of) dread - i.e. there's no OF in that otherwise famous acronym of a heavenly descent of english... unlike old-saxon cocktail... far far away...
some two nights ago i lay in bed anticipating sleep thinking the impossible thought: althought a quiet - no... a quite possible suicide: of walking into the north sea off the shore abiding by aberdeen and swimming across like a hardly between pretend of whale toward the coast of norway...
somehow not missing the phobia of swimming in the sea because of the archaic darkness making forced lingo from the depth below...
or just listening to kenneth koch reciting... perhaps i too could recite... but because of my silence... i'll take to nibble at braille... or contest that... if morse could be written as braille - who has such tender finger-tips to read braille like a blind octopus couldn't possibly play a finger-tip numbing sacrifice to the guitar -
from this the northern barbaric (extended)... some greek... θέα κουφός
such is the forever impossible... the greeks still speak greek... the hebrews still speak a 'brew... the romans are the already available letters - as i find... there's an italian that's a negation of latin... it's like for the remains to ingest the crucifix... there had to be a negation of latin: beside the cravate / apart of strain...
it's that somehow... beside the chiseled rocks and remains... italian is a reinvention of latin... but the greeks speak with a sort of insinuation you could ascribe to the softness of the iberians... i conflate the two... so much for so little of this.