a poem for today, 7 February 2012
[a letter sorted sonnet of nine sentences and its image]
The fish is a poem.
Then it all adds up.
This might sound obvious, but following it through – watching patterns emerge from the noise – still gives me a sense of beauty and awe.
I concur completely.
Get ripped.
In order to maintain imposture as a notion, we must also maintain a fiction of seamless subjectivity.
Everyone agrees.
I'm a dancing monkey.
It would be easy to alter the definition and say arbitrarily that it applied only to man, and since any definition is fair game, there is nothing improper in such a procedure.
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