Note: these five short sections appear in sequence near the middle of this book-length poem.
Opening the yod that goes with this space the book is awake enters a tiny point. The-point. of the-The The-the. A-the. What a book! Presenting streaks in light of celestial smoke by folding black A's inside white the's. :: Black ABC's code inside this white fold that little slip frill and sweet honey ruffle multiple registers that travel to the serif of one letter. :: The serif of one letter or one red dot dripping a flower-fashioned fractal over the peony core. Then at edges, everything's midrash. :: Right at the edge, midrash piled on midrash, Pelion on Ossa, to highlite the vitreous floaters with comment and interp. And there's the "yesterday I" had a diaristic impulse but it didn't work out, now, did it? :: or Did it? Can't tell? Blame the unwritable oddities of journey-- "the daily"; blame the persistent bad manners of the dark horse mashing the other one in the yoke, bumping sideways into-- o that horse!-- the gloss.