In the below zero city, wanting prose factories for fingers. This coldness, like the extreme humidity in Tampa during the summer, drains my body and mind of action. I bought the latest issue of Fence magazine last night just for the fantastic text ("Cubism, the Blues, Visions: A Conversation") by Alice Notley and Edmund Berrigan, who mentions:
"...or the fact that when I write I leave holes and fragments in poems to account for the translation lag between my thoughts and feelings, and my ability to put them on the page. That would be where the inaudible music takes place, and the decision-making process is part of it, which is why performance is necessary. It is a ritual with a purpose. I often change certain of my poems as I read them to an audience. I try to account for this as I write certain works, with the idea that the reader may skip around, or may "lose" some of the work, or perhaps read the words that they hear coming next..."