“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label Gertrude Stein. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gertrude Stein. Show all posts
Thursday, April 20, 2017
The wind was long
If I wrote 'Now' one thousand times-
Now, Now, Now-
am I not lying? Redundantly (pro)posing nothing new
on the page-
Now, Gertrude may say
the same,
Now
there is no such thing like the thing itself,
repetition of point...
like Moore's Law-only holds so many holes
before disappearing
all together.
In soundness, over and over
is a slingshot past Here-
reason being no longer
enunciates itself
as individual
thingness and parsimony
it seems to me we should have
been focused on the duplicates
observing patterns of double talk
scholars without abjection to empty words,
placeholders or so called meta-
or merely masters by degrees
From this angle
Now was never
the center
errant signals disconnect
the radii from the thing.
Portrait of Gertrude Stein by FĂ©lix Vallotton (1907) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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