DUDE DESCENDING BOOKCASE
Thus where you were in the sentence
In a paragraph made of mud and weeds
Or haven't yet a word one never thinks of
Burning on the stove before the house goes up
I often wonder whether, by following one's own quasi-rational associations, it might be possible to abstain from both analogical and Objectivist obsessions, and whip up a new kind of encounter between language and body, synced up through the sensual imagination and a prescribed mayhem. If language is a filter, then this attempts to be a film, and the riff off Duchamp implies perhaps that it would also be a form of inframince.