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25 August 2004. This is the eleventh of my catch-up entries--the entries I've been posting from October to August, when I had trouble getting to my blog because of what the hurricane did to my neighborhood. Can't say that any of them are very memorable. This one won't be, either. Can't seem to get going. Don't feel like talking about haiku.
Okay, here goes a completely spontaneous, uncorrected attempt at a poem, one I have no preliminary thoughts about, at all:
Stab lessons along sealed arroyos
of well-toed armaments
until the lid upholds
many foldings of ripest beachware.
Accents of tar mingle
undeciduously always
in the exact, exacting angling of bee investigations.
Mournfully, the worn wizards of Parcheesi
try out the latest triangles.
The roundest accident leaves no dog baying.
Stupid? Very probably. I just just one change, for--laughingly--coherence: I altered "The roundest accident" to "This roundest of accidents." My first impression is that there's almost nothing in it I'll be able to use. But maybe someday I'll try to use the idea of something not supposed to have a mind upholding some principle.
Hmmm, I just decided "the worn wizards of Parcheesi" has possibilities. "Wizardry wearing away from the Parcheesi . . . of something. . . ." When I'm in my solitextual poetry mode, the above is the sort of thing I write, except that I stop after each line or sentence and try to wonder it into something coherent in some way. As I go along, I keep alert for the beginnings of a scene that hangs together in some way. Mostly, I try for near-nonsense that I hope to render lucid rather than lucidity that I hope to warp out of predictability with nonsensification.
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