Violet the fugitive

PV23-37. Desire wings to facial turn, pursuit, seek, hide

The pile

 

Day passed to more day, reverent, I have no disbelief

I continue my arrangements I make more I pile on

I clear away I smell bristly soil mulch 

I look at Giacometti ensouled by Lee Miller, rat-skit solarization

I do not splash

Do you think I am dumb, Elliot says, when she says, Elliot do not go on there

I don’t think you’re dumb, I think sometimes you’re not a good listener

When at first she walked the children by 

No climbing up the mountain, she says, because they want the dirt perfectly in a pile

On the return Elliot was at risk for climbing the mountain 

For disturbing the pile

Because he sometimes doesn’t listen

I would listen and disturb

I gather round the voice true I fear it

We bow and we become erect 

Penelope

When we were people around trees I didn’t take the tree too seriously I knew it had a heart and that I was one, that was my magnetism pre-time lit up. Then we came to sit around the voice and with it a body electrified torn asunder the tree tore from its roots our heart as I knew none of my companions now and they knew not me. So I followed the tree. I would go as it went and where it went at first I was blind to, I heard some things, yes. I heard the heart that was inside no longer, that from a way's away said go on faster and again and soon I began to use my eyes, needling my hands I mean, I began to weave and in the weaving I was assured for there I was to see.

Evelyn

 something re-claimed. I know not what. 

the appearance

alive. Alive! concretizing, or not. is that how to picture a woman named 'daisy'?

I believed I had a fair understanding of W. G. Sebald until I read his biography and saw the black-and-white snapshot of him as a young man standing thigh-deep in a river, topless in wet jeans with a deep tan, defined muscles, and a dagger in his hand.