there is at once
only coursing
eddied into
inlets
I am always now
a process self
pulsing into
limit
dream it, it can be done
fear it, it will come
hope for it, and it's none
see but only thought
and the cat becomes a stew
a nonce and nonsense
yet ado
but it can be eaten
why it's not
not a jot
yet pot
kettles
reason
(Audio Link)
now this is a poem up my alley. playing in the word stew, of simplicity and wandering thought ...
ReplyDeleteGlad you like it. I think it's fun when, after writing, one reads what was written and thinks, "now that is interesting." And only then do you see the way the words fold back in on themselves and tie and untie their sense.
ReplyDeletenone//see
nonce
nonsense
for example