.

by layli long soldier from whereas

a poem about writing, bo-ring. says my contemporary artistic companionate, a muscular ob-
servation and i agree. a poem about writing poems, how. boring as it is, it asks me to do. i
couldn't any other thing tonight. i sat i wrote about writing. i write i sit about writing. i'm
about to write about it, writing and sitting. i will write and sit with my writing.

defamiliarize your writing then, somebody says okay i'm not sitting then i say to somebody.
i'm chewing at a funeral and. i'm nibbling my pulp knuckles. i'm watching a man with a stain
on his. pants always wrinkle in this heat, gnats and humidity. i walk to the front pew to make
a lewd, joke. i regard laughter from the man in the. pants are always honest i mean really heavy
at a summer burial. yet he doesn't ever cry, the stained man, why. when i observe nothing (un-
usual) i do nothing (unusual) in response. new or novel. real lit relics on these occasions. in
ritual: nobody's learning, true. and to lewd is dumb, otherwise. like the way i put up my dukes
when i observe the cowboy kneel. he's praying he's asking. he doesn't see me, my gesture's fu-
tile. what am i doing here, writing. what am i doing here righting the page at funerals.