20101024-25

garbage-hunting goats

and

thorntrees full of littlebirds


because there isn't a rhythm to what this slowness means

here where the sun has bleached my hat but not my head
here where the sun has bleached my hat and speckled my arms

prosetry tastes better

Even in my technical formal academic writing, man, I'd rather write prosetry to try to evoke the meaning---not by fuzzy vague implicitnesses, but rather, by having more place for passion than prose permits, more place for passion and pause and prosody.

Perhaps I can, then.