J o n o  S c h n e i d e r  &  A n d r e w  F e l s i n g e r 

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Each reason a deafening, each increase a closing. The rooted anguish is time's prolifigation watching rivers flow to rippled edges. One forms a hidden solitude, the commodity is form.

And so I bought the book, not knowing why, and sat there good, a melon full of seedlings, but don't know how to light the grill in December. I live between May and November; Indians ride by in their hats, pants and beads.

The book sits in the sand, yellow light in the folds and why indeed? Why indeed?

The book caught the lighting fields in its net of palominos that storm the sun, a legend I infuse with grief. And I sing slowly, the dying of an aged god, the palominos, the dried twigs -- my dear, where is that book surging this evening?

I aim slowly today till November and to tell you why not and why not as the pages blow against the window, wishing, in all their indefinite pleasure, for some quintessential measure.

The sentence eats its way across the page, beginning as darkness and escapes as light in stammers, "lets begin at the end" without tradition. A sentence is left inert as flame. We arrive where light turns itself again.

There is hardly more than the going -- a trust assigned to itself.

From the blue silos of sky to the egregious sunset, a fabric moon and laced stars -- an urge to speak. "There must be an unutterable phrase" -- this is the matter from which all sentences must have begun.

Began, begot, became as was sought, from which it had naught, in the matter of difficult beginnings, the sentence aimed and occured. The sentence fights its way across plague, a black train in snow which sings. This is not meter.


Are things to be -- to be believed?
Are selves things to be believed, caused by words are things themselves if believed?
Languages qualify products that qualify.

Names are things as decimals denounce unambiguity -- the "of" of of.

Philosophy made leash by unmanageable fact. Numbers save those who behold the equation.

Are words where questions question tautologies or the precision of things in space?

This dumb rock.

Are words susceptible intervals between word and ground?

Song meant as carved essence, music where the assured word not wedded to language as in poem not word is leased as names lash equation.

Where things are word integer is added to rock.