Because Why i. m. Lorine Niedecker Sarah Fox |
Trees are a matter of fact adorning what? They matter are sturdy to sit on, are windy and standing not with. In fact trees for example. Those ones, from shifty windows. Ticking there for stop. Time to go time to birth on the hourly snow. April mattering (Stop) Because I licked it. Young birch branch. Rhyme scored white curled in dirt. A many birch. I saw at it, rupture. No, maple. Here. A skyway zone because swing. Trees to pain matter-of-factly. Bowls upon, clink, ivory chimes. Carry so much never. Feel perhaps patriotic, burned, broken. Sad to fall and bald and shed. With standing. Not per se walking. In fact we don't certainly know, perusing only so-called rings. I remember other than, buffalo (Heard buffalo? Thunder buffalo?) Rain, an instant. Mercy (Whistling. Making wishes.) And swings, creaking, do arouse: trees matter: to themselves? Adorning your very own window yard. Stopbox. In fact they are (speaking) simply like thought, as in like something odd, yarn, invisible. We can't hear. What matters in the green communion because nameless. Snow, April: we are in fact nameless, sorry. Perhaps soothe nothing. I feel now, only. The Woods. Are lovely are dark are. Across my feet the rubbery yard wet. White. My feet. Trees too probably stop, cry out. In fact they may cry out. Matter of course. For April is snowing. Trees do because they do because. |
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