Tuesday, March 06, 2007


A saxophone has an octave key. It allows you to play in two octaves. Once I borrowed an electronic saxophone. It had five octave keys. There was the exhilaration of jumping up an octave, and then another and another. As if I could leap through the clouds and find new worlds, and then new worlds, and then new worlds. Cerulean. Sur-ulean. More real than real. Beyond duality. Notes beyond the fanfares of imaginary trumpets, their names spelled with letters more capital than capital.

Past miniscule & majuscule: megascule. Writing large writ large. Orthoscendant. Ontographic. Transalphabetic. Like shouting so loud it becomes geologic. Writing as geographemes. Nouns so proper they enter philosophy. The ascension and then the ascension again of the capital.

I write words with these letters and the tax department trembles. My sixth grade teacher weeps and then runs through the school reciting last week’s spelling list.

Trees move away from me when I write return addresses on envelopes. I make basements and rain with this alphabet of letters beyond letters,

Beyond lower case, beyond upper middle case, beyond the lost little roads of our country.

Letters only angels could spell. Hovering over our alphabet, yodeling songs above hearing, writing a cursive of clouds, hyperscule, a greater than of poems.

No comments: