EVENING WILL COME: A MONTHLY JOURNAL OF POETICS (ISSUE 3: MARCH 2011)

Lisa Fishman
Seven journal/notebook entries         (page 7)


VI. (summer 2010)

What did they say they did with the beeswax? Shot it out of a torch to coat the floor, and the floor was sealed, gleaming, a fabulous smell. Then a flood came and lifted the beeswax layer of the floor right up, completely off, and the floor is back to sod now in the strawbale house.

In another way she was starting to be able to see the story, its palpable nature, in addition to what appeared to be happening and what was.

Every sentence evades the fact, is or must be conscious of itself as unacknowledgment. Is that what silence is for: then it ought to be overall, given the dimensions of catastrophe. Cessation in every realm.



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