My writing is clear as mud, but mud settles and clear streams run on and disappear.
“‘standing’ ‘walking’ as present—huge crows loaded a tree
(past) by me—at night sleeping—yet the half-cracked black bud
(night: only) and thin blue sky, but as being oneself only, aren’t existing
either
single thin wall, waves thousands in the freezing sky and
empty fields—and loaded on tree by me—night is half-cracked black
bud in one: as, thin blue sky
the two single events at the present (only)”
Leslie Scalapino | New Time