I would like to do a Chinese Brush Experiment, an exercise where the poet can go only forward, never back--except to change line breaks, punctuation, grammar or spelling. The words themselves may not be changed in any significant way. Here I go:
Demosthenes chewed stones but spit them out,
his tongue ungrateful for the discipline she'd learned
from pebbles wrapped in saliva.
Not an announcement, no parasol and green balloon
over the astronomy lab, shame it is.
As I was saying, the shortest route between two points
is woven like a snake, even two snakes mating
which is a vision you can't be responsible for.
I mean in a general sense, no presupposition
the black girl in the orange raincoat smiles
for no reason, you grip your cane, shield your heart
and take suspicion for your lover. Shame.
It's not the same for everybody, you know--
but as I get older I want to be more open,
coiled to try to understand, intent upon meaning,
without dismissing the ravings of the inexperienced
nor promoting the ignorance of academic singularization,
to live with an open door because the house of your life is stout
and your fear is a trace element
folding on itself atomically
the nuclear blast so green
green fire, the parasol on the desert was dust.
Dangerous dust. Ha! The sore point:
how the ulcer of aggression feeds the maggot of desire.
We were talking about that, and the confessions
of the Samoan twins, accused of terminal obesity
exceeding the cholesterol limit
by two kiloblubbers.
Thank you very much.
You have been very kind.
May you all be blessed in all things by the grace of God,