"A page of Hejinian is..."
well, knotted at each end (but never for praying in) 'cause it's tongue-
shot, a pure eye muff, lip
The start of it comes like the blond wig gone aslant after a nap
--oh wilful sleep!-- & the neglected
books lying near
and reads blotched, primarily from smears when it means to sing,
sincerely,
She's not just lost between "things" (like the catamaran & sea
a dead star
fell into).
Sea or not is just how it feels
Like the amateur trowel too it chips and chips, a line at a time
half-feel, half-real, meaning to be
but ...
