Sunday, November 21, 2010

Sent to Slides

Tonight, the first of the three cluster that I intend to force fruition, of something.  My characters need enrichment.  The Room shift, 90 minutes, actually 89, away.  Lazily poetic, with Ms. Plath to my right.  She smiles, but pains beneath waves.  Last night, had a bit of wine, but nothing that sent me to stars.  The wine-food time, still in mind.  Amazing chef.  How do they do that, the culinary thaumaturges?
My book, possibly, hopefully addressed in tonight’s session.  Actually, yes.  Decreed.  It will take the posture of a blend: beautifully erratic, spellbinding, wrapping readers in magnetizing confusion.
Outside: smoke, saturated Earth,
delightful waves of air.  For
whom?  Maybe me.  Maybe
us.  She, not here.  This blend
of notes intends to
with me stay, be recorded
for you, us.  She, not
with me.  But maybe
in these notes.  Sharp
fascinations of a flavor
flurry.  Complex and
Competing with memory,
to redeliver the heavenly.
(Sunday, 11/21/2010)

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