Walking

As I would walk under blue dry sky I would ask what I would walk about in general inquiry,setting of agenda. Flies would in leaner times hit a nose. A dog pursued clashing darknesses. It was about to be morning, not yet.

Holding stick in hand would it help? The sun was up and about an image. What to do with my image crowding?

Let it be Kafka’s big thing lumbering corpse in house a-growing like tree, dreaming planes on snakes crashing. Sorry I’ve forgot stick I am carrying. The stick is carrying me about a dog. The dog is just a thought in the dark.

Perhaps, I walked literally on knees with a jelly in them shrinking lately. Sun image is now a high jelly in tree. Would a corpse be dreaming, I said. Yes if it could grow like yonder tree and its feet could outlast a window.

What was Kafka dreaming off pillow? While he was walking on sun image, and after he reached home to flies? I could not set an agenda for a walk that promised to be a literary walk. Let it be literal walk on jellied knees.

Let this be liberal walk with images that crowded the mind like people in lungis, with their morning milk. The sun is now higher up in the sky. He is no longer a jelly in the banyan. A jelly is thinning down in my knees.

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