Lectures on America
Thing things. Meant
to say it. The minute
to say it. What
is the want? Well,
anyway…
This, as
a sentence. But
longer if it is
going to be. Is
is what has, & how does
what it has have? Exist it,
on & on, & on & on. But
in the going life, isn’t is always
not the thing
you could sing?
That year had a
long history.
The Blue and Brown Books
There.
The words
themselves. We
seem to be on
a like concerning
clearer parts. I say
“his cheek,” & she says
he had “timey motivations. You could
see it in his toes.” We
could have, with
words in our hands, with
the flames of deeply smitten
howevers, with
a colour called
red... My skin had
fixed standards prior
to that fire.
Dark red
definitions. “I,”
I said, “can do it,
man.” A man (sic)
& his
bricks. “So,”
she said, “you caved in, so
what? Nobody in
there, right? The
thing is, don’t
look down.”
Gil McElroy is a poet living in Colborne, Ontario.
Occasionally he has a good idea.
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