Letter # 6
DR Jack,
Is this all get? Got. We see. Post poetry time. I in the halfmoon. All that was green or flowering IS dry. The wind does cover everything. Hate the wind. Rewrite the new grammar and fold . this knew ever. Giving distance to waves. The zinc of a tablet has left me this. A rock garden. All of the moments , away. Wind at my back in the room wher
i fnd ptry ded. How I fell fer her collapse. Revive all that I have not spoken in this time of retreat. Time fer bed. Poetry has made my throat burn, as Blackburn sd, take an oar and walk inland with it until they find you foolish. Take me down post poetry, to the lakeshore – here she sez, a stream. I have given you the truth of w/e. but I hv drifts again. The drfts in my convolutions, the mouth of a river. The sand, waitng fer hours to form, the minute chnge of life alludes us, Jack. Some truth moves in the eyes too. All those strangers along the way, but i , oh my god, christ.
Sincerely,
Trudgeon
