Tags
'scape, 2013, 6*, Allen Ginsberg, attention, birdsong, breathing, emptiness, identity, life, speech, Sylvia Plath, thinking, time, William Carlos Williams, writing
living mystery
murder theatre
let’s get myself
into a tight corner
and write myself
out of it
I have the tools:
the embedded title
the variable feet
the next step stanzas
and no ideas but in things
the breath and the lungs that contain them all
I have the ‘scapes that define me inverse to what I see
I have the candour of Ginsberg and the fibre of Plath
I have the lifetime that tracks me sieved to the flow
and all of birdsong set to time
there is nothing that I, ze great ‘Ercule Redford,
cannot zolve zat ‘as been pulled knotted
by my inattention to the empty space
at each and every centre
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
[Allen] Ginsberg wormhole: 20th century / schzoid man
attention wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
breathing wormhole: sometimes
emptiness & identity & life & speech & thinking & time wormhole: new year’s eve 2014; train up to London to / walk the bridges across the Thames, and / listen to the voices say it is, and was, like, / but get back home before the fireworks / obliterate it all in the emptying twilight
[Sylvia] Plath wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
[William Carlos] Williams wormhole: hint
writing wormhole: lobby
Love this and fully appreciate ze little taste of Poirot at ze end!
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ah, ze leetle grey cells, zey are working, n’est-ce pas?
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Mais oui!
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I LOVE empty centers!!
They’re so gooey….
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nah, that’s gummy centres; empty centres tend to their own edges and become … wormholes!
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….that you can chew
and chew
and chew!
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… until they swallow you
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….hole….
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ha!
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