I want no paradise only to be
drenched in the downpour of words, fecund
with tropicality. Fundament be-
yond relation, less " real" than made, as arms
surround a baby's gurgling: encir-
cling mesh prounouces its promise (not bars
that pinion, notes that ply). The tailor tells
of other tolls, the seam that binds, the trim,
the waste. & having spelled these names, move on
to toys or talcums, skates & scores. Only
the imaginary is real — not trumps
beclouding the mind's acrobatic vers-
ions. The first fact is the social body,
one from another, nor needs no other.











Used by permission of the author.