I'm thinking about the word "adumbrations." It looks, at the moment, unusually beautiful. I'm thinking it could be the title of a long poem I've yet to write. Not to mention that yet-to-exist piece's method.

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Where does a poem begin for you, dear reader? For myself it is often a matter of some evocative kernel. It could be a word, phrase, couple of sentences that I start to worry about and fuss over.

So one begins with that kernel or fragmentary beginning, but sometimes things don't go far and never get returned to. Sometimes things linger in a notebook for months and are returned to. Sometimes things blossom almost immediately. Like a rose or a radish on a summer day. Or roadkill on the four-lane. Sometimes the line between a beautiful realization and a gruesome discovery is pretty damn porous.

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I hooked up with language poetry back in the day only partly because I was French kissed by Roland Barthes.

I hooked up with language poetry back in the day only partly because of John Ashbery's gabby frozen honey.

I hooked up with language poetry back in the day only partly because the limits of my language seemed to be absolutely contestable.

I hooked up with language poetry back in the day only partly because Gertrude Stein taught me to narrate the decaying moment and to appreciate the luminous beauty of the opaque.

I hooked up with language poetry back in the day because it was the most interesting conversation going at the time.

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