Wednesday, March 05, 2003

Boundless thanks to Nick for sending in the poem, one of my all-time favorites. I post it here for your delectation:

Grind (Diane Ward, from "Never Without One" (Roof, 1984)



Thin spaced fractions (internal listenings) I thought as much
as numbers, I hear around us inmates of the ears.
Eternal attraction to heroic caginess that touched doubt.
The don't say that you're a scant inventor of my own.
This derangement on as it should go on. The picture of
themselves spread over themselves which are barely owned.
On no further than playing intimate figmenteds lended.
Experts now take hurry, but mean calm asylum.
Minor subsistence furthered by amended minds in all-surroundings.
And physical exhausted erroneous respect. We could be already
in end, a better platform to be relieved by all of you
together functioning. By life patterns choice, different
sense of vertical different cultural blood that, by wandering,
induces time's factor of between. Like authority's lens
and experience magnified by a giant tear whose modern answers
yes and yes and ok ok. Oh, from eventualities-lower modes'
care extracted. Oh, to link arms, arms formulate, formulating
promises, promise, unleash the absent electric impulses shot
through bodies as exotic blue the hue of distance.
He's about to lend a problem which his mind has already solved.
Questions remaining as a glaze in his eyes.
Changes made before you.

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