Imponderables
Tuesday 29 September, 2009
Openned in Gracie Leavitt, Text

All you imponderables —- sometimes in a dark theater you close your eyes —- try to fall into that clotted tumulus —- or lap of world —- or ideogram of an unborn nightjar —- enlisted to be rude —- all you against the creosoted lee side masses —- ravening with palatial mannerisms —- end up kicking burnable clots across their lawns —- sometimes pinning scratched up ingots to folks’ jackets —- dug up from the lawn where you kicked night jars back into place —- what holds up this insuperable lap —- all you footsore —- you rinse you thrum in the deep port of sloping wires —- I fall into your lap.

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