Steven Ross Smith
fluttering. 36 

postscript. for Robert Kroetsch

dinner at Marbles. trying not to lose them in the shuffle of
referents. and after pitch and fork at the circular table
scholars and word skullers walking back to Kroetsch HQ.
place of the story-like gathering of tongues. we are
aphoristic, appositive. apostolic. though not apologetic for
our faith. the apporhea aura aurora in full evidence. we are
in session giving tribute. incessant nodding to the
tributary with marvellous acuities, insistences. mind going
almost numb so we stop for coffee. start again to peruse the
poetics of the small-hearted writer. rat-a-tat-rita. writing
her way out of the picture. RK as GS. Gertrude Steining his
story in drag. Dragland losing his text then finding and
refusing and dragging out his ending. Draper a stuttering
host, hostage to Stan's restanding and the uproar of his
wordings. wordswords honed though no battle is here but the
river. this flow of love, keen as a blade, for the high
plains drafter of those first frisky words on the frosted
fields or crossdressing a story in which she is absent,
disappeared into the coulee, the treeline. beeline.
belonging to the long line, line of longing. song. buzz of 
lust busting loose. I would lick where they work at their
nectar, my tongue seeking the sweetening perfection the word
cleaves. the Lang wedging story. behind. bees hiding in her
thighs. hornybook. donnybrook. Robbybook. rickety-rack.
yackety-yak, don't come back, (Coasters '54). O that hot
sax. O that singing telegram sent by no one, sent from
absence, to find itself in the buzzing when I close my eyes.

The East Village Poetry Web