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                Again I reply to the triple winds
                running chromatic fifths of derision
                outside my window:
                                                     Play louder.
                You will not succeed. I am
                bound more to my sentences
                the more you batter at me
                to follow you.
                                         And the wind,
                as before, fingers perfectly
                its derisive music.


from Sour Grapes, 1921

it’s the immanence of writing within the experience that it is writing about that makes writing a wrestling match between perception and the thought thereof …




distraction wormhole: divergent // direction
music wormhole: TREES by William Carlos Williams
William Carlos Williams wormhole: THE DESOLATE FIELD by William Carlos Williams
wind & windows wormhole: What You Are by Roger McGough
writing wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – old George