Thursday, June 19, 2008

In An Unfamiliar Paragraph

Yesterday partially spent mulling the tendency of fields to be rectangular as opposed to. Does grass feel or can I write it that way. Pervasive sense that a word had been spoken and was still circulating, like wind. The afternoon dissolving in conversation. One limb of the front yard maple nearly reaches the ground. A lush summer, and trout rising.

He said but without interest. As always, Joseph Merrick is instructive. "I am not a monster." Gary Gilmore in dreams again, this time observed as rail-thin and wracked, following a line in foggy distance. Traveler. The question is, who can say for a fact that bears - even individually - have no God or Goddess.

A tight feeling in the chest related to a pattern of thought. Tea, crystals, antique coffee pots. The ducks were bored by the lawn mower but not the pigeons. In search of the right sentence one often finds themselves in an unfamiliar paragraph. Yes, you can get carried away, it actually feels good. How tired I am, how willing to sleep.

How the edges of the leaf curl as it dies. "You will take this with you and use it to remember this day when I am gone."

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