« August 2007 | Main | October 2007 »
In a field no longer on its back & burning; out of a poor floral that has not laid with Rain since a spring lightning---the last anticipation of this wild radish will become what the absent Water left behind: voids of the ravished "anticipating" the root each seed will excite when Light is again a flame.
Gone to seed I am like a sea the Sun is eager to river.
Raphanus sativus
A life-time of ignorance & no one to blame for even the Sun is blind, yielding to woodlice the ambition of light.
A "laboratory" cannot culture appetite, nor will the experiment that instructs the learned how best to survive the failing of prior hypotheses ever survive an oospore’s desire, to say nothing of the ignorance that thrives by fly & spider. Though the "wits" of such laborious circumstance are themselves ignorant & like a sporophyte endeavoring, sometimes the beneficiaries of truth as error, yet let them make dirt in a Petri dish!
Unlike the unthought thing that cannot conceive till thought itself & of things passing be perpetuated, these contrivances pressed against earth, will they ever accumulate? Be the entailment of Araneidae's genesis? Be as instars through decay, or as increase that excites those who wait?
Our "models" of water mold, of Muscidae & of post-docs are of great interest when love is evoked & the expectations are vague—than at least may the student feel a little, the Unknown—that which is the inevitable accompaniment of disease & eclosion, of starlight & weather, of resting states & generation, of time & emptiness.
The constellations of stars are as apt as any scientist. But when in doubt, leave it to an orb weaver to elaborate appetite.
The Mummy of Muscidae
I know the issue for I have sucked promise from the face of it. I have mingled my freedom with Fluvellin & become amorous. I have become vague by the indeterminacy of Pig Thistle. I am listing toward ruin in the waste of things I know of only in their flourishing. Therefore hopeful as I contemplate the ejaculation of a sun that excites the north wind, stirring the dark where rivers die; a dark that drowns Diptera in the dust the old leave behind; that makes "dirt" the flies of heaven. I am what I could never have reasoned, a scandal of some physical imagination that knows the ignorant rain & the notorious errors that matter. The "gravity" of error that creatures our flux, creatured by a kind of ignorance God is ignorant of.
Plebejus acmon
