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                                                              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





[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