You displayed inscrutable dexterities
in the moment and thereafter . . .
isolating the ambience for later study . . .
dating entries as a method
of keeping track
of where you left off . . .
There was little sense in doing the math . . .
Enough came too soon . . . the pleasure
climbing but falling off before peaking
as incomplete as the scribbled code
bobbing in the runoff . . .
Your experience with choral groups
seemed endlessly renewable
endlessly enjoyable
as rare as colorways in bipolarity . . .
Your attempt to encounter afresh
the waveform action of syntax
led to a diatribe of dead ends
directing you to return to the streets
marked One Way with all the trappings
of cutting, splitting, and stacking wood
impressing the making and unmaking of sense,
the how not the what of knowing . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |