Some in the mind has to begin no matter how much song in the gut.
A part returns to dance it. Well . Anyhow .
Patterns get made of whistling up a highway and down a talus slide.
Not here a hundred years but gaining on us now.
I'll just say it straight. There have been grievous injuries. Do you hear.
The material life
… material of life
… material life of lines
… maternal or one's lifeline
for instance wind over the keyboard whining to Mary
or for instance you might tear yourself away now or then like
for instance a legendary film star with a candid alcoholic refinement
or for instance the miles I could not put between myself and my body
for instance the poetry of Ai in a tiny gilt typeface
The magisterial life
… magistrate of life
… magical strata of lines
… majesty of one light lie
Buffalo surf the plain white spaces unprinted
turning up in surprising places and formations
such as the wedding between the fisherman and his line
turning up along uninteresting marginal curbs to get there
such as the featureless stretch on the Hudson Parkway just south
turning into Nothing To See faster than we can turn into a gathering
of pigeons fainting over thick slabs of the organic roughage we call reason