From The Shu Pu
Because he writes at a certain time, the circumstances either provide harmony or provide discord. The mottled grey pigeon touching down on the tarmac the early sun paints at a slant on the sidewalk either fills the space left for it, or it flies in the seam between what could and what should. When harmony is, writing flowers like a fountain of possible liquid in the park of what is and what has...
Clear day. Today she went to see her daddy’s grave. On top, an insect. Shoo-shoo. Let it be. It wants to stay. Snowy. All day inside. Alone. The flakes like brush fire ash. Snarling. No phone. No mail. Make broth and drink it. Cloudy. The moon half there tonight. On board a train scar-scar, scar-scar. Gingerbread cake across the aisle. Clear day. An insect lay beside the candle. Dust....