by Ken Tayor
it takes ears to say what is manifest in failing systems. not sitting pretty in mouths. what can be written is aeriation and necessary in beautiful orders to taste over days and years. to speak to these in repeated colloquy so i’ll hear. inspiring the continuance of building a universe so it keeps existing. founded on first books and inside of those that revenuers seek by their antecedent wilderness inventing. i ain’t mad. just friendly with those who dance toward my sustained deliria. who take a chance on angels sharing and my small pressing. what my fingers touch pleases and collects and distributes to the rural routes and apartments and classes just making. in close re-reading to show flapping with ascension. the slip of my ways means standing beside and letting say what needs to be and comes out quietly. smiling in the face of murmuration as a spell to lean into. to join in on. casting in skies when dark is better than the lyric narrows or the mails or lingering or squeezing open or endlessly offering up. changing shape. singing for supple to an audience of this many. even if it’s precisely timed pouring outside. as above so above. below with which there’s echo. please call the extra-long parataxis to ride downtown again. chasing archers and puppets and diphthongs and quays crowded with coffins, mistral winds and freshly piped cannoli, upcycled drift and pollinator habitats, seatbacks and tray tables and picassoid eyes. more than midway thru my life i meet edges and go in rounding the several circles that instruct this love.
About the Author
Ken Taylor is author of first the trees, now this (2013), dog with elizabethan collar (2015), self-portrait as joseph cornell (2016) and aeromancy garage (2020). He is the founder and editor of selva oscura press.