January 31, 2011


Imitate in this space. Count letters, no, just syllables dispersed in the line or in the artifice of poem. An intrinsic pulse, now this is rhythm. See as we are penning and penning nothing of consequence. An entire narrative residing beneath the surface from which we cannot begin to scratch. So to be making this friction you can feel the static charge and when you score this, so will an anthropology inhabit these figures. I chew on such certainties, a documentation of documentation, knowing the landscapes mouths make when reading and the diaspora suits the cause.

No comments:

Post a Comment