On the way from the carpark to the Farmers' Market, and under the walkway by Warehouse 21, the center for youth/arts, is a very non-Santa Fe pair of eyes looking at one ...
... and then there are the wheat pasted faces that have been there almost a year now - by Anne Staveley - peeling nicely ...
and then, and more serendipitously, some unexpected poems. The class is meant to be writing poems made out of found language, or experimenting with the idea of poetry written on various material forms and surfaces, or writing poems that would be site-specific and appear in unexpected places, or that follow the model of Herbert's "Angel Wings" or Apollinaire's "Il Pleut" - and here, as if to cue, were three poems on a board at the side of the rail tracks ...
I craved to commit
language so flamboyant
it seemed a crime
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