Dear Emily Abendroth Emily Abendroth
dearemily…
my head is swimming with foot falls and little song breaks as given.
and where I go culling posies as pigs all hours repeatingly…the song sung’n
In short. it is about what counts obtaining
what counts to you dearemily…
from toward eadward forward [with interruptions from the Sowgirl of Salzburg]
dearemily…
your eadward your interruptions are that unsered to finish…
there are twelve operas…
Salzburg is swimming with foot falls and little song breaks as given
and where I go culling posies as pigs all hours repeatingly…the song sung sing
In short it is about what counts obtaining
what counts to you dearemily…
THE WALK & THE AMBLE
dearemily…
the wore more often than not is conceived as a journey to and from fixed states of being. The weather is continually becoming) Frosts and fogs and dog days
my head is swimming with foot falls and little song breaks as given
SING AMPLE
sing ample
and where I go culling posies as pigs all hours repeatingly…the song sung
In short it is about what counts obtaining
what is to you dearemily…
clocked at midlope, every mare facilely unropes
any strict predictions of flight, unleashing
locomotion like a prestorm hushponcho
the full gipper of precipitation still on the lamb
dearemily…
My head is swimming with numbers. My childhood was spent in a village where each summer a Flower Show was held. It could well bethought that each collection of flowers constituted a bouquet of time. dearemily…
the wore was more often than not conceived as a journey to and from fixed states of being. The weather is continually becoming) Frosts and fogs and dog days
Sing-mare falicit-ily
your locomotion precedes me
my head is swimming with foot falls and little song breaks as given
and where I go culling posies as pigs all hours repeatingly…the song sung
In short it is about what counts obtaining
what is to you dearemily…
arching a clipped hoof skyward, clops down
impounding in puddle a cloud bank, a cone of error
or leaps a brick niche in furclad furor driving
its own warm hide by slack over rocketing strides
dearem…
perhaps it seems difficult to think of multitemporality
Your. Maybe ceasing to spacialise time will set off relations which are not separate from each other. Cloud banks are oppos’n. Multiplicities. What warm memories this exempliary gesture holds for me. I take time to reflect. Pause’n
Unline
But now I imagine a song without a frame.
Now as a complex system of buckets. The trough as the throat.
Becoming the swisher. Dance Em Emily Dance Dance…
Maybe our thoughts will
sparkle in your rocketing strides.
My head is swimming with numbers. My childhood was spent in a village where each summer a Flower Show was held. It could well bethought that each collection of flowers constituted a bouquet of time. dearemily…the wore more often than not is conceived as a journey to and from fixed states of being. The weather is continually becoming) Frosts and fogs and dog days
my head is swimming with foot falls and little song breaks as given
and where I go culling posies as pigs all hours repeatingly…the song sung
In short it is about what counts obtaining
what is to you dearemily…
the slow open gammed gait of an aggregate body
unabated gives birth to a warren of rabbits, a boon
whose exiting bushels of sallying tushes
usher a second degree prickliness in the orifice
each shuttlecock forthing undocked as if by schooner
a knotted shock of downy assets leaving the bloomers
dear em, your tone affects my becoming
What does this line of thought suggest to me?
Dearest em…perhaps everything is either, perhaps seems difficult to think of in multitemporality Maybe ceasing.
To specialize. Time will set off relations which are not separatefromeachother.
To implicate is too include. Very often, however. Maybe our thoughts will sparkle undocker-ed. My head is swimming with numbers. My childhood was spent in a village where each summer a Flower Show was held. It could well bethought that each collection of flowers constituted a bouquet of time. dearemily…the wore more often than not is conceived as a journey to and from fixed states of being. The weather is continually becoming) Frosts and fogs and dog days
my head is swimming with foot falls and little song breaks as given
and where I go culling posies as pigs all hours repeatingly…the song sung
In short it is about what counts obtaining
What is to you dearemily…
the suckle-sated nestmates bivouaking nightly shore
up a shelter girded by their own interlocking appendages
an ecstatic but nodding combobulation
a thick mess of drowsy possibility
they are sedge-browsers as well as perambulators
ample in coniferous intake, sampling by mud-flanked rudding
Suddenly in the middle of my thoughts.
Drowsy with your possibiles.
I take time to reflect on a question of yours comes to my mind.
Sing’n
what is it to you dearemily
the ample enough?
It is a summer’s day. Do you believe it is possible to think with out excluding? Yes you say but how am I to envision the special style of
your perambulated divisions?
and here the pathway to the scissoring extremities
begins at the shammy lapped hindquarters
begins taking stock of what one notices
searoar wordspoor umlautdrum
an amble as twice sprung maelstrom
whose sound is absconded but movement
lashing, four flyway wind currents concurrently
Suddenly in the middle of my thoughts. Your pathway sound is capitulated corralled in the penstrom. GallopFlung mud. Stop! I want to stop and kneel.
thrashing a field of addled cattle, their surefooted
and peculiar brattlings riding the hammerdressed dare
the earth you miss while the foot bobs in air
Suddenly in the middle of my thoughts. Your pathway sound is captured, coral in the pen
Stop! I want to run too earth. Knel Knel sing. ’open the door’ on Tuesday.