words are just things. like all other things in my work. bits and pieces and marks and implications and juxtapositions and shades and lines and thoughts. they are found and refound and rewound. they come in from all angles. through the airwaves from easy listening lyrics like so many splendoured things. from random papers and pages and letters lying on my table and floor and hiding in the middle of fifty-three year old books. misplaced titles and labels, fragmented formulas, forgotten sentiments, nonsense narratives, rearranged adjectives, verbs, and plural nouns. lists and more lists. recontexturalized things. things that were originally never meant to be together. collage. meaningless. meaning-full.
The Ekphrastic Review
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