an excerpt from The Hundreds by Kathleen Stewart
published in TAG #3
Place presents in singular but not accidental things. The timeless granite, the Dunkin’ Donuts sign, a common hand gesture, the biting air in January. It’s two-dimensional and it’s three. All talk and icon and then the taste of a Macintosh apple. Less a structure than a prism, less a grammar than a collective search engine, it’s like scratching on a chalkboard already overcrowded with lines and erasures. And that means it has a body. It weighs, hesitates, sticks out like the raised knap of corduroy. If it endures, it lays down an infrastructure of energies. It promises all the details of habit and mood.
…Tags: Kathleen Stewart, poetry