Poems are toys and you’re right: everyone plays with them in their own way.
I did use my pram as a wheelbarrow once, wearing a red hood, toys inside.
I made my garden furniture out of a box too. It was all folds and hinges.
Emblemata is a shit word, yes. Italics sometimes heighten the shit.
There’s a note next to JOKE BEANS I’ll ignore, though I like the line below:
“what does not die; what matters — is that men should believe in History.”
All my life I kept out of seaweed. I stayed away from the sea.
I used to dance all the time but I never inherited any parties.
The sheep / the dog / the sheep / the dog. I remember woollen lovers
and I believe a ghost wrote these notes: Everything in waves.
I would have noted ONLOOKER / SENDS FOR LEAF / BOAT
but I echo WORDS ARE DIFFICULT TO PUT INTO WORDS.