January 24, 2005

poetry, i tell you, need not careful inspection

you just read it, silently, then louder, louder by the second, until you run with the words and commas. you run, not walk, not stroll, but run.
periods are hated. why put an end? a merciless, minute globe that says "and so I am."
there should be no fixtures.
imagine yourself crying and laughing, or sitting down by the side of the road, or lying down nursing a throbbing head; do you say, "this is it. i shall be." or "so I am, so I am."? what a pitiful exercise on living then! and reading and writing poetry, too (most times they come together - poetry and life.)
you gather images and run along with them, not imitate them, not memorize them, not eat them, not nurse them, not study them.
get a piece, find another, blow them to the wind if you may.
there is no fixture.
no end

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