as each crystalized moment...no, each hard penny...or, the wet concrete soothes the fingernail of understanding (not understanding...something like paper covered balloons) ...you get the idea, which at least the words linger, wade through the drops of a monday, at or because of distance i can only link to the idea, virtually, not even an idea...no, a black-covered paper-back, inside of which, each line of which, pasted into my mind (visual-like, but closer to crude animation). between the drops i wonder how to kill the lyric...squirrell...digging away planting poems of roses in the sweet mud. imitating lines of sense and logical awareness. a posted letter arrives only in time for...spring.