Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Niedecker Cento - 318 words

I think of a tree (105)
The surface of the stream the leaves (109)
The wind willow (104)
By freshness from the sky (115)
At times I sit in the dunes (108)
I have to fly (209)
Sleep and it won’t matter (144)
She’d sell dirt, she’d sell your eyes fried in deep grief. (108)
In the great snowfall before the bomb (142)
I fear this war (183)
You are alone (183)
On my doorstep (182)
Fog-thick morning (181)
The branches’ snow is like the cotton fluff (174)
And hear from Ireland (171)
The marsh, down in the ditch (145)
In all the world there is nothing (176)
Now I sew green aprons (208)
Stood serene as now-he refused to see (175)
In the old house (164)
Quivering toward light (172)
I rose from marsh mud (170)
Cars out rolling thru the country (172)
Porch’s people, prices, peppermints (171)
Go home where the green bird is- (168)
Inside today’s woods (160)
As I shook the dust (160)
Chopin left notes like drops of water (158)
As we walked a city terrace (159)
In New Madrid (165)
Something precious, a real good thing (153)
Beside the river-out of flood (169)
Imitation silk black dress (152)
She now lay deaf to death (150)
Moving thru a field (164)
Let me hear good night (151)
Tho what we feel be misery (148)
Three days toward Berlin, one bread for six (165)
Don’t melt too much into the universe (149)
Like parachutes (136)
We must know about the sandhill crane (145)
In the moonlight lies (135)
Let’s practice your dance (144)
Here we last (120)
What would they say if they knew (143)
The world has no notice (81)
Not all that’s heard is music. We leave (143)
Between the river and the Sound (137)
Birds flying through leaves (134)
With tap-dance-acrobatics (134)
No modesty anymore (118)
To wit, the lover said (79)
Not finding where the flowers were (116)
And the extravagant (80)
Raw wind, rain, (81)
How impossible it is (198)
There must be things in the world – (85)
No bread and cheese and strawberries (86)
There was a bridge once that said I’m going (87)
Rise and sore (82)
Land cannot be sold, (99)
And painted in red, a bluebottle gentian (98)

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