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#oregonno
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams) <•> familiar that apple google and amazon have me under 24 hour surveillance e-specially now as I am in their geosphere of influence but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status, and is addressed to me personally (“you”), that’s just creepy so charged am I, obligated to oblige, to counter-compose a love song of mine own, under the pinot “influence,” (in a manner of speaking) which a love taught me to love what if, a new love song ecrit, to an old and loverly land, a woman-land designed to be desired, no difference - kissing a new girl first time, a wet and unforgettable compote when falling on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed now I tremble-tread for the line of great predecessors, “the land lover scribes” skilled in natures homaging, is like a line out the door, around the corner as if a new flavor ice cream has just been isolated and mined and I... <•> *I, but a novitiate in a far away, wild untamed world where my nature taken by her nature cannot deny paying my just due: selvage late middle English, from self + edge how perfect! “an edge, woven on a fabric during manufacture, intended to prevent unraveling” the pacific coast air the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding, god’s own forestry reserve, the cascades, a goal on the horizon, country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin all will be my own selvage! preventing the eastern unraveling disease, a nearly incurable permafrost low grade kate spaded infection, brought along with me for decades, my loon June companion, now stalling out, lost from my happy head a vineyard on every corner, marijuana growing next door, rivers that change like children growing up and down, cheek to jowled property line live the berries and the hazelnut groves, god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic like marshmallows dotting the landscape* all daring you to say I could love it  here
0
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
Songs of Oregon: No. 3 “you, far off there, under the wine-red selvage of the west!”
(from “A Love Song” by William Carlos Williams) <•> familiar that apple google and amazon have me under 24 hour surveillance e-specially now as I am in their geosphere of influence but sending me a love poem of WCWs that isolates my locale, my intended inebriation status, and is addressed to me personally (“you”), that’s just creepy so charged am I, obligated to oblige, to counter-compose a love song of mine own, under the pinot “influence,” (in a manner of speaking) which a love taught me to love what if, a new love song ecrit, to an old and loverly land, a woman-land designed to be desired, no difference - kissing a new girl first time, a wet and unforgettable compote when falling on the neck of your one beloved anew renewed now I tremble-tread for the line of great predecessors, “the land lover scribes” skilled in natures homaging, is like a line out the door, around the corner as if a new flavor ice cream has just been isolated and mined and I... <•> *I, but a novitiate in a far away, wild untamed world where my nature taken by her nature cannot deny paying my just due: selvage late middle English, from self + edge how perfect! “an edge, woven on a fabric during manufacture, intended to prevent unraveling” the pacific coast air the irregular shoreline - expanding/receding, god’s own forestry reserve, the cascades, a goal on the horizon, country roads where ancient wheat stalks grow wild all a tonic intermingled, an alcohol to imbibe through mouth nostrils eyes and skin all will be my own selvage! preventing the eastern unraveling disease, a nearly incurable permafrost low grade kate spaded infection, brought along with me for decades, my loon June companion, now stalling out, lost from my happy head a vineyard on every corner, marijuana growing next door, rivers that change like children growing up and down, cheek to jowled property line live the berries and the hazelnut groves, god’s hay bales wrapped in plastic like marshmallows dotting the landscape* all daring you to say I could love it  here
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