Let me be clear: I’m only writing this post to give myself something to do, to distract myself from a particular current event. As I understand, people are presently casting votes in New York—votes that concern the U.S. presidency. Now why should I, who live in Minnesota, (and who cannot even steer my OWN fate) expend anxiety on behalf of any…
U.S.A. might mean United States of America… U.S.I. might mean United States of the Imagination… N.A. might mean New America.
Assuming that the phrase “emerged from her den” might mean “awoke this morning,” I could say: Today my sweetheart emerged from her den wearing a casual top with pleated, tapered sleeves.
[Note: This entry’s obligatory image is the hastily scribbled blueprint that underlies the collage from a previous post.]
As a fashionista, my new goal is to embrace my inner J. C. Penny shopper. Why? Because I found, at the back of my closet, a stash of clothes that I inherited from my grandfather. (J. C. Penny, for those who exist in the near future and thus are unable to understand the reference, is a mid-range department store whose style of attire would rather affront than appeal to a Parisian fashionista.) (Though I’ve never been to Paris, I refuse to stop believing that I was born there. For if pets can grow to resemble their owners, then changelings can inherit the traits of their…)
Phrases on my mind the instant I realized that I had to end this post before its end: “biological proxies”; “yearned-for kidnappers.”
Here I did another reading…
I love the poem; but I’m disappointed in my recital: it’s too hasty and prosaic—even as I post this, I want to redo it, because my effort is inadequate; but I’ll let it stand, to provoke both me and others to improve on my failure.