ok chorale

Exercises in deletion, fragmentation, hiding, compulsion. I’d like to make word theory, poem theory, not by thinking, but by doing. I was there before. I’ve been there. I know the route. I feel eager, but uncommitted. Timing?

This will never be a weblog. I’m not logging. No logging. I’m not trying to do anything. I’m not even trying to show up. Nor trying to reach closure, nor trying to be pretty, nor trying to express myself.

I feel a little frantic, then relaxed. Want to draw a circle in the dirt around this spot. Want to. But there’s an awful lot of scuffling feet, and wind, and the footprints of deer and rabbits, falling wind, and rain, frozen rinds of snow. Not to mention magnetisms and othe polar influences, and bears and heavy asphalt paving.

No predictions. No promises. No probabilities. I’d like to make some things of words. I learn to write by writing.