The mid January heavy dry heat has now settled in for the season and all
you can do is drink sweet fruity wine in cut crystal stem flutes with
five ice cubes and smoke fresh green leaf. Nothing is now likely to
happen until at least mid March.
Despite this, I am still puzzling over some free indirect discourse
strategies. Below, the middle stanza is a sketch... in prose it takes a
few more words. Which ever way, strategies for FID; perhaps Roland
Barthes is still the best we have? Suggestions??
Sketch poem which lead to this follows?
CONCRETE OUT THERE
The treeline is triangular. Branches appear one third the height of the
tree.
The bottom branch thickest thinning toward the apex. Multi trunk prime
numbers
up to one after ten and no more this is what Aristotle tells Kant tells
a tree
needs to be pruned tells the sublime Romantic inversion of nature in
miniature
mimesis poet is a bonsai tree tells us the Bonsai rulers governing
occidental
that one is taken, from contingent shock resetting, an accidentally
found
It is now mid january. I transplant my potted locally growing trees. For
two months
they will sit in the stubborn summer heat dormant in steaming hot
potting mix.
Shorter days and cooler nights invite the winter's chilly winds as is to
be expected.
Bellah with string leaves like northern pine. This is Bonsai. Trimming
tree roots.
It is hot in the afternoon mercury expands and cracks glass tubes that
hot
you cannot go out into the madness of a mercury splattering sun.
The trees sit in their pots out there in the sun. On grey concrete.
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