Seeming cognitive displacement being the spontaneous of inner balance. As one’s organically assimilates the imago Ignota (the search for the strange for the sake of the strange) an imaginal opening transpires that lifts one beyond a weakened colloquial amperage that seems to suffuse what many poets excuse as the day to day. To paraphrase the late Philip Lamantia as he scripts in his essay Poetic Matters the the equivalent of writing copy for Time Magazine. To My thinking this remains the accepted meter of birds unable to conjoin themselves with the magical ale of flying. They verbally bicker with themselves on a delimited scale. Never an evolutive language that takes chances with itself. Instead it breeds a summation of cataracts that in turn breeds cataracts of angst. What follows are enclosed states of mind that remain forlorn, technically finicky. In the rational world they are more than drafts of an inadequate imagination as they fill out the ledgers of prizes and recognition. Thus the marrow of the verbal self remains missing. This being poetry sans invisible stamina attempting to cross its glaring plain of thirst, attempting to cross the invisible with a contorted harness on its shoulders. With major bodies of water beginning to leap the known boundaries of our present inadequate mapping in the main poetic practioners continue to answer themselves via protracted technicalities.-
Will Alexander
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