folk/technique.

what is an obsession, anymore and
anyway? the scales of it are both
green with the texture of curren-
cy, and tonic as the octave of my
forgotten folio and having ending

in sight, and sigils-- formerly i
could tend and steal simultaneous
inventions that made me cold, but
becalmed: this was the femininity
bursting forth with the forces of

serene vectors and sketched pass-
ion, that would always exist, al-
though i have become more skepti-
cal as time marches on.. somewhat
blanketed with the junk of ideas;

i don't have to think, or ask my-
self questions, to wrap myself up
in the turmoil of a joke gone too
far-- we are wives' men, all most
confident lame and kings of not a

bridge or its land but the emoti-
onally safe satisfaction which is
imputed by speakers and their ar-
rays of meanings: sun rises east-
erly in order to soothe a troubl-

ed breast with the softly surreal
signals of antediluvian centuries
that barely woke before they were
carried away with mouths and this
hint of bricking seventeenliness.