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Me and Sylvia (April 4, 2002)

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A memorandum-book does not, provided it is neatly written, appear confused to an illiterate person, or to the owner who understands it thoroughly, but to any other person able to read it appears to be inextricably confused.

James Clerk Maxwell


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🦋 On the water

Today we rode the ferry from Plymouth to Provincetown; we biked around the tip of the cape, bathed in the beautiful, transparent ocean, looked around Provincetown a bit, and took the boat back to Plymouth. Here are a couple of images that I think could be assembled into a poem:

  • The million tiny bubbles which comprise the whiteness of foam in our boat's wake, splashing and ebbing into the undulating surface of the harbor.
  • The texture of the water's surface changing as the sun hits it; the sparkling tails of reflected sunlight streaming away from the focus of brightness into the green, gray, black, green darkness. Scintillating blackness blossoming from the choppy waves.
  • Swimming off the beach -- moving through fields of colder and warmer water; looking at the mottled sunlight on the pebbles underwater.

(...and riffing on this, what about a Borgesian-fiction spin on poetry, where the author describes a long imaginary poetic work by quickly examining images from the poem and impulses behind them, inventing an author.)

posted evening of Tuesday, August 25th, 2009

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