from weightless

Gertrude Stein wrote, a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose. its not
the flower but the language we seek. the name
at the naming core.

if we could nip this in the bud. I mean, would we?

I am willful telephone; I am willful days & nights. I am
Carnegie, the last man standing.

at the end of our senses I am waiting. if I
am pressed for meaning.

means overruns me, outweighs. a meaning. he thinks it is this way in this
way in this. is this. this pearl of wisdom. what?

strange & delusional, I am marking my territory w/ weeds &
w/ thistles. do you remember that summer we spent? or by the
house in Toronto the owner decorated w/ toys & bells & whistles
& figurines. like living in Susan Musgrave's car.

I have not been able to find it since. your red red scarf. the tang
of you fresh grapefruit sweet.

I am neither passive nor pigment.