So I'll read something from a different work
that's called Zither that was finished recently.
As you can kind of sense from that,
I tend to work in kind of spatial relations
between things and a sense of something being interior,
or what's inside is taking the outside reverberation
of something and the sense that it's the inside of one or the--
and at the same time the sense that what's inside
is outside, and that you're seeing it outside yourself.
So what I'm about to read is a combination of using streams
of action in a kind of like action film,
or film noir, or comic book like, or mystery story like,
shreds of plots of things happening
and wanting to have actions that are very free
and transpiring freely, and then also
intermingled with poems that have a more anterior
sense of what one is thinking about all of this.
So it's kind of outer action and inner contemplation of that.
So this is from Zither.
In order to be seated, the viewers have to walk.
There's a shadow of the words that shimmers.
A samurai comes up in the grass.
Huge, variegated, hairy blotched moths hit on the light outside.
The other is ushered into a plush office in spring.
Woman's throat, a banded dove's neck,
heaving and speaking as if she were a boa swallowing
what is immense, speaks as the dove's plump breast
throat heaves in its band.
The other, the other is a detective.
The other is hired to protect the dove,
to be the guard of the non-celebrity.
The layers, lids and folds of the heaving boa
dove bulging above the band also bug, as does the throat.
The throat bugging is a swell, a breast,
bellicose without intentionality.
Over here, man seated at a cafe table outside,
gesticulating to signal as if were a cabbie
says, "over here, over here."
The heaving boa dove bulging at the constraint on the bugging
neck is inside.
There's a conflict for a tension between boa
dove and unknown man at cafe table.
For the other, maintains wants errands on the corner,
then it will be night.
The soft, dark sides of the horse
lying, being kicked in the long grass with their coming
through the sea of grass from all sides.
To hold too much, the soft dark rolling sides cage of
curled horse lying mounds in grass
there, there, kicking in at the sides.
Train on parched cracks is freighter at night.
A man, the interior nature of muscular
dove cage, one stretches out on the throat breast rake,
raking it, the base of it while his dove moves,
remaining soaked one.
Not changing by the middle, being in one,
or side is one is that.
He applies his brilliant, gentle mind to the fact in the grass.
The kicking people in long grass, yet being a tyrant,
one is respected per se for that.
This is not the movement in the grass,
nor is there movement zither.
We had a zither as children.
There is freighter.
They are themselves, in fact, hemmed
in by the long spears, the other in the middle spears through.
Grass, the people holding them on the other ends on all sides.
The other is hemmed, pricking as spear punctures that
are on her sides.
One first, the other does, runs in before them being there.
One is running out.
Something occurs then when one is running.
Not anticipating, as in happiness running out.
Before is happy.
Something occurring does not change that then.
Experiencing being happy is in the present that it will be,
is in the future then at the same time.
As the middle of a conflict in one, then being.
Is there not being authority, is shape?
The man knows this, loves, as what is love is.
came down in entire life span outside.
Lear is the viewer.
One might even loosen this faculty,
sensual as exterior interior at once of apprehension
further from one stream.
A little white owl springs up, gliding toward one.
The girl with eyebrows curved like bows follows it
into the plumed grass.
The moon or sun resting on the plumed grass,
both then walk on plumed grass, horse down
crowds coming in from the long plumes,
eyebrows arch, following phosphorescent owl gliding in.
In fireflies crowd sides running on its sides.
Crowds running on its sides wallows on black grass.
Crowds wallow eyebrows on moon edged horse blackness.
Crowds wallow grass horse gliding moon.
Eyebrows arching through grass wallow moon.
Eyebrows wallow crowd on the horse.
The man at the cafe outside in the light
appears to be wearing magpies, glistening black feathers
gliding blackness.
Crowd comes in plumed grass to little white owl.
Head in blackness and running legs in plumed grass.
Seated royals in sun and moon, both then
on half plumed wall grass.
Crowd in sun and moon both then wallows on wall plumes
and seated to the side, the half.
Horse, alone walking beside man who's
seated at cafe in glistening black wall
to plumed grass in crowd.
I saw this film of Mexican cloistered nun
in time of Inquisition, poet thought voluptuously given up
then to it at early time, which is experienced as slow in it
to us.
Early being in utter enjoyment.
Later recounting having to agree an Inquisition
before dying in the plague.
The boa dove has hired the detective
to protect her from the brown shirts, who are putting
people's furniture in trucks.
The people are leaving out on the streets already.
The mayfly flits by a parade of brown shirts,
walking beside them, the other seated at a cafe.
It's evening, a parade in the evening.
Longing for cabs.
Inexperienced is future.
Inactions, not in them.
Recanting that she had been night ways,
living as a pagan in the convent in.
Is breath's dusk once existing dusk?
We had a zither, children, which we couldn't play,
not knowing how.
Not related to now in dying, zither, why?
Communicating freighters see at night.
Hurl in the middle or midst, doesn't have to be the middle.
Sum in one's life with what?
With what?
Going at it with cockiness won't do it as not one.
However, being seen as going forward only,
too forward can be humility?
Don't know, what's then?
Some people belly up to show submission, the soft and sweet
sparrow bellying up so that they will not charge and then tear
her.
Humility to lead them, to placate.
By placated, but the other cannot belly up as it is not
allowed for anyone in conception.
For one, it's irrelevant.
So they charge and tear at her, and others continually only.
A separation occurs.
One has an interiority there that
is neither one nor aggression.
So does humility in the one.
Colostomy bags ripple humps on the men walking.
Yet that placates them, humps of the colostomy bags floating.
But it is toward people, but isn't people.
I was making a joke in this about the brown shirts having
colostomy bags as no guts.
So it was kind of a joke throughout this.
[LAUGH]
Starving man, his first.
Early freedom is now only.
It isn't astute, so it's giving up on observation.