Flip Days

Kiln and Arrow

66 Kiln and arrow Recently you’ve come to blank conclusions: crisscrossed the water from the foot of reeds to fish breaks. Thought is like the sea is like a storm. It’s yesterday already to tomorrow. You walked through in a fire suit, a hallump like him, a hellump like her within the perimeter of the sun, between puns and music and light, language an instrument of sound, fact and random chance, with only one book, often happy just to read, shuffling in another part of the house. Readers clear your view as the dead get deader. The poet reads the poet. The world is more humane. Character A sets up the bust of Rimbaud. Character B drinks. Character C reads, types, and cleans. Character D (female) orders the magazines, fabric pulled and torn and sewn, and Character E, the radical, shouts from the window, “These are the clothes the Emperor can’t see!” Secrets, Character E, secrets. * 67 Down this way, we are walking as we are falling. You emerged from the country within the city to the city itself. But no moment of unequivocal destiny. (I don’t remember it as cold.) The roads were coming in the open day, winding like eels. I see them in the fields, unfolding thoughts. I see them plough the hillsides no one plants, a cleat in the motion of thought, not an oracle (as if you can think, in spite of consciousness, becoming one’s own thought) formed without verbs, while you hold your breath and forget (as if I have the right to intrude and care.) Could have been many pretty words were it not for grammar.Thank goodness. ...