I dream of
Sasquatch jogging over pillows of igneous rock, where in the middle
of a clearing every species makes itself
up. Not necessarily by deliberate choice, certainly not at the whim
of distinct individuals, but some pretty hairy
people inhabit the big trees. In one tale, a girl is carried off
by one of these—Dzonoqua, the Wild Woman of the Woods...the
girl has been crying, and to frighten her into silence, her grandmother
a manner of deep slow experimentation,
intentional marks lurk.
In the crooks
of shadows, Sasquatch
worlds as a trickster crossing all realms at once. When you think she's
here she's there. When you think she's
this she's that. No wonder pictures of her are blurry!
|An ecologically mysterious
network overwhelms the anthropocentric
itself an emergence of
economic concern merely acknowledges
a declared sensibility drawing on
the length of the bed.