Published: Thu, October 12, 2017
World | By Tasha Manning

EMMA GUNST: September 2011

EMMA GUNST: September 2011

Anka Zhuravleva's photograph

C how is life, which is pure principle

sin A precise physical seat

gives form and matter with odor and color

How does the unattached set and become concrete

in full dense forms, With weight and volume

How light and movement are given to the open retina,

How this is in turn,

A piece of flesh that is able to look

How does it look with fire or meekness,

What mystery lies in the last inside of the living

How can things be seen

and what does that mean?

How does something exist

What secret love or sympathy

prevents the compound from breaking down

What invisible complicity approaches

So puzzling puzzles

What a smiling breath dwells beneath man and sustains him,

ignorant and perplexed, light and Hollow,

on the magma of all that exists

How does the flower follow the fruit,

that its gentle silk of impalpable sugar

The juice,

pulp, the bark,

which nourish all living equally

Who has given To the fruits of their fate,

Who has arranged for them to have an end

EMMA GUNST: September 2011
EMMA GUNST: September 2011

Let someone find its strength in it.

How the mystery finds its bones <

And you dress with your flesh and your nerves to the Being

How do you reveal and preserve it,

How does the voice of a throat >

How do you give flesh how skin is given

P>

What is the dream of man every night

And how do you live in peace with that enigma of yours?

As the day went by and the vigil, as if nothing had happened.

Tell me, brother who now reads,

You know something in your flesh that also knows the moss,

You know the coals of the brazier and fire,

Potatoes that cook, trees and eagle, Stone, air, water and all that weighs,

If you do not know what to do, / P>

How can we unlearn everything

of everything learned and unfinished,

P>

What we may know without knowing it

Then the poets could open our throats like birds do

leaving the noise of letters

We would not mind that,

As now generally haunts us,

P> because the beginning, the vigorous figures that say what they say without saying,

in things and beings

which mean merely being

>

or whose very being is its meaning,

through us would sing

For all gods, or none.

** iT's ***** always ***** t☼☼ ****** time *******
I stop and tell him that I can fix his bike and tell him a few things I need to do it Where you can get them. I was trapped and I stayed in a kind of concentration camp full of hippies.

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