Over the Pavements. Should see my walk more as music than I do, strung together sixteenth or quarter notes. I should have an identifiable theme, an exaggerated version of myself and gait.
The mailbox should have a theme and Pollard Street and that streaked protuberant asphalt in the street I encountered this morning should have a theme. I should be more abstract than I am and see “staffs” in this streets — walk with a staff — should see notes and not what my ordinary senses translate into ordinary words. I should read more Apollinaire: my dream the other night of a poem in three languages, and I woke up in the morning all ready to write it down, too.
.i`` * ^ / . . . . . ` `~ 