Robert D. Vivian
ESSAY TAKES APART HIS E
Essay begins to roam, begins to wander, air essay, wind essay, essay light as leaf and essay weightless and almost winged who takes apart his e and looks at it for a long time as if in a dream, e-dream of great electric power, wondering where this e comes from and marvels at its tumbling sounds, e-beauty and e-opening not his own but vowel of ethereal grace before essay puts e back to ssay and essay is whole again in humble attempt to be and then essay on the run, essay hot footing it because essay can and must move more than anything, more than hurt or sorrow, essay wants and needs to move and essay is movement in sound, in partial, imperfect utterance, trying, trying this dance step or leap or that one, turning on a dime though essay is poor in spirit and beatitude unto itself wild and free and trying to pawn his microwave for 50 bucks though the owner laughs and says Listen, buddy, I’ll give you five—and essay is okay with this in startled benumbnent walking back to the car, essay holing up in a lonely apartment with nothing to his name but a black plastic comb but essay has a library card and is a kind of library card himself, entrance into an endless world and Borges’ blind ghost reading another page of Braille and still another with his trembling fingertips like human canes of plenty, the texts alive as nerve endings and the grainy textures of verbs and oh, how they do feel and essay wants to be touched like this and held by Borges, by anyone and essay writes his name and says “I am essay” hoping to be read, hoping to be cherished between the silent stacks of books, oh, mighty cities of preamble and rectitude and racy situations between protagonist and aardvark, arch angel and damsel going down in red-haired flames and essay is hungry for a reader, hungry for song among the slender and almost swaying volumes of verse and the bloated novels whose very copses of noble dust lift essay’s spirits into the vast empyrean of all souls’ struggles upon this earth and how these same struggles rise up on cries of lament and praise and holy crow, ending with the constant windblown issuance of threadbare sighs.
Essay begins to roam, begins to wander, air essay, wind essay, essay light as leaf and essay weightless and almost winged who takes apart his e and looks at it for a long time as if in a dream, e-dream of great electric power, wondering where this e comes from and marvels at its tumbling sounds, e-beauty and e-opening not his own but vowel of ethereal grace before essay puts e back to ssay and essay is whole again in humble attempt to be and then essay on the run, essay hot footing it because essay can and must move more than anything, more than hurt or sorrow, essay wants and needs to move and essay is movement in sound, in partial, imperfect utterance, trying, trying this dance step or leap or that one, turning on a dime though essay is poor in spirit and beatitude unto itself wild and free and trying to pawn his microwave for 50 bucks though the owner laughs and says Listen, buddy, I’ll give you five—and essay is okay with this in startled benumbnent walking back to the car, essay holing up in a lonely apartment with nothing to his name but a black plastic comb but essay has a library card and is a kind of library card himself, entrance into an endless world and Borges’ blind ghost reading another page of Braille and still another with his trembling fingertips like human canes of plenty, the texts alive as nerve endings and the grainy textures of verbs and oh, how they do feel and essay wants to be touched like this and held by Borges, by anyone and essay writes his name and says “I am essay” hoping to be read, hoping to be cherished between the silent stacks of books, oh, mighty cities of preamble and rectitude and racy situations between protagonist and aardvark, arch angel and damsel going down in red-haired flames and essay is hungry for a reader, hungry for song among the slender and almost swaying volumes of verse and the bloated novels whose very copses of noble dust lift essay’s spirits into the vast empyrean of all souls’ struggles upon this earth and how these same struggles rise up on cries of lament and praise and holy crow, ending with the constant windblown issuance of threadbare sighs.
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