HemingwayIdol Moderator
Number of posts : 63 Age : 51 Location : Salt Lake City, Utah Poets : Allan Ginsburg, May Swenson, Billy Collins, ect. Registration date : 2008-12-27
| Subject: WINTER SYNTAX Tue Jan 27, 2009 3:20 am | |
| A sentence starts out like a lone traveler heading into a blizzard at midnight, tilting intot he wind, one arm shielding his face, The tails of his thin coat flapping behind him.
There are easier ways of making sense, the connoisseurship of gesture, for example. You hold a girl’s face in your hands like a vase. You lift a gun from the glove compartment and toss it out the window into the desert heat. These cool moments are blazing with silence.
The full moon makes sense. When a cloud crosses it it becomes as eloquent as a bicycle leaning outside a drugstore or a dog who sleeps all afternoon in a corner of the couch.
Bare branches in winter are a form of writing. The unclothed body is autobiography. Every lake is a vowel, every island a noun. | |
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