Can it be that it is only the little words together like a song that is heard only when sung but looks on the page like many other little words unneeded and dribbling and gasping for derision? My little mind hears another little mind who can’t hear the thought, so we think that because we and they don’t hear the song there is no song to sing? Little word songs of poems of dialect, my dialect, the writer unthinking, and dialect of in with so of little words to sing of the writer must sing them. Little unneeded ors and its that that and over and still to be cut and cornered to come back to inside and over for cision and cession for of and over to come up again to be unheard and seen and slashed and cut and never sung.
A Computational Mask for Editing
19 Sunday Jan 2014
Posted commentary, poetry, writingin
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