Tuesday, October 18, 2016


In not trying to be a critic, I am not setting
up the alternative space so many get used
to: the glass harp, as Capote put it; the
repose of rivers, as did Crane. We can
rightly discuss one-hundred things here,
between us, but you must first understand
my language. I am not a normal man.
I write a difficult text and it's ongoing.
The bends and the bounds roll together.
There is little understanding in the standard
run of language : I roll vowels and make new
words, discursive ideologies and quiet moments.
A parking lot full of modern workers?
The whole-foods sequence of fey men in
little cars? No, there's nothing there for me.
I hazard only guesses, and they go wrong -
as high people seeking living in high spots
go wrong when they reach new bottoms.

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