Let me get this out of your way

The way they occupy space

All Points

If it were a point

if form and object were combined

SCENARIO

You know there was a particular kind of sorrow that came with confusion, or a certain feeling of being flustered.

She said:  Between Point A and Point B is epic poetry, the pathways of taxis, the flights of birds and bees…the shortest distance…follows the molecule

She was surprised by what she saw, she said, I remember.

I don’t remember how to make stories, or ever tell what happens.  I hardly remember the words.

Someone said they’d like to write like that, like me, that they would feel good about it.  Maybe so.  I don’t remember.  I just place the words hoping one way or another they might end up meaning.

Something needs to shake, shake up, quiver and tremble.

I need to be rolled dice.

I am troubled (at times) by the absence of narrative.  My impatience.  Describe what you want, embellish the action and details, characters and plots – I’ll be reading for the meaning, watching for it to happen – we rarely need the bells and whistles.

Like a good poem might be – line after line – meaning.

Potentially.

Facts are of little use unless we doubt them.  Without gaps we’ve nowhere to move.

I don’t know what to tell you, I want to write, and my brain rattles like a busted engine.

What if there were desire – if I wanted something, faced conflict, suffered,

instead

instead – what?  I want to want.

If this.