come now, Dr. Candice. Arnaut's love-lyrics are theologically-stepped
to the 7th heaven. the other troubadours used it constantly as
a counter-beat.
I'm not sure where Bighead & Bacon come in to JG's poem here.
I see she's established a subtext of vision beneath the flowing surface.
Stillness of the dead leaf & the cold bed under the rippling jouissance.
still seems like alexandrian elegy to me. still life. moire.
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