poetryrepairs #206 14.11:127
CRAIG KURTZ : Sonnet For An Artist
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Sonnet For An Artist
If I have forgotten how to sleep at least I've remembered how to dream; It's conducted with deep breathing and rapid eye agitation. If I have forgotten repetition I've discovered, no less, surprise; It's enacted with unreasoning and signifies a freedom. If I have forgotten the quotidian I've remembered provoking fiction; It effectuates disturbance and makes a mockery of mornings. Somnambulant I will gladly greet her with colored words, freed from common paper.

poetryrepairs #206 14.11:127

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading

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it's like when you were a little kid lying awake afraid to sleep because of something evil lurking under the bed you cried for them and they came and you told them about the evil something under the bed they laughed at you forced you out of the bed and made you look under it see it's all in your head they said and then they turned out the light and left you in the dark thirty years later you know that they were right it's in your head and they were the ones who invited it in nurtured it made it feel at home for all these years and it still keeps you awake at night except it has grown considerably over the years and no one is laughing anymore

poetryrepairs #206 14.11:127

I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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1. An Open Wound
On the edge of the creekbed washout lay the carcassed head of a horse. On the dried blood of the stump of her neck on her white blazed nose in her nostrils on her tongue in her ears on her eyes thousands of white segmented maggots wormed one over another greedily searching still fresh meat. Black flies, blue flies, yellow jackets dove in the white heat of day to feast their small buzzing bodies on the blazed head.
2. Blaze
two days earlier had again walked on the porch of the cabin, her head and forefeet in the door, snorting her presence. I held my young son in my arms as he held the carrots Blaze ate. We patted, she nuzzled. Today flies lay their eggs as yellow jackets suck her honeyed head. Eighteen years later a new neighbor fetches her water from the Spring in Blaze's washout.

poetryrepairs #206 14.11:127

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition. -- O.E.D.

Amendment VII
In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in any Court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.


CRAIG KURTZ : Sonnet For An Artist

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