What is foreseen is condemned to the formula.

[Noun, proper name; verb (past participle, from participium, partaking, sharing, which is appropriate); Noun, proper name; Place, which is like a name; year, or date, or age.]

A noun is a word that is the name of a thing.

For example: Gareth Davis Mr. Davis Gareth L. Davis—this is quite formal and probably unnecessary though the L stands for Llewellyn, which is lovely to say and also to read—just Davis or sometimes The performer Our invited artist but more likely Gareth Davis, which is neither formal nor vague and will do just fine but also does not tell you what happened before it: his mother’s name is and her mother’s name was and those came before, of course, but they do not, still, start anything like induction. So: Jeanne; Hope. Naming arrives too late. Fails to mention the crucial [exhaustions heat noise], defers Covent Garden and the girl and the drums at fourteen. Like the beginning of one of those poems that begins with one of those names. Like Henry. (I would not recommend this beginning.)

A verb, by contrast, says doing or is.

[One expects: studied with, invited by, performed with, one would not likely see broke or tore or annuls but collaborated with would be all right and also learned from and also explained to, even argued for, possibly colluded with, but probably not bit—

[with with with by from for with While it now means towards or near, with used to mean against or opposite: the Old English wið færstice means against a sudden stabbing pain.]]

[Precision in time will be valued: not last night, or the night before last, or the night before that, even if that is the point. Relevant datum: 1979; 4.00 a.m.; & also some other times.

(What is doing has already been done. Do not declare what has yet to take place.)]

Gareth Davis plays clarinets with every form of ferity.

[Note that there are no interjections. Interiectionem, from throwing or placing between; a word which is thrown into the mix and which indicates emotion unrelated to. So: My! Ah! Ouch! Well! These do not appear.]

He is not 25.

[The adjectives are always wrong. Why? What does the word British loan? Enthusiastic? Virtuosic is like virtuous, which is like virtue or chaste, which is like not enthusiastic.]

A name is a word that is the name of one thing.

[They clutter as his name clutters the other lists of names that clutter the other lists, all namings an exordium: urged forward is the alphabetic swoop, Ablinger to Zuydervelt, a tighter arc of Lang then Uitti, a match: Harvey, Hosokawa, Holliger; Mode, Miasmah. Clowder comes to mind, as does coagulation. The sound of the letter S is formed through the friction of the breath between upper and lower teeth: Schöllhorn and Sharp and Sparnaay; Sciarrino; Scanner; Sonic. [A referral is a gauge but also a transfer for care. [Places can be names: Wigmore, Wittener; London, Sienna, Amsterdam; and all the many zones. Certain hazy times can be a place, as can certain detours out of place, but these are not, in all honesty, going to make the list. [These are merely examples, and an example may be a sample, but an example is also a caution.]]]]

One definition of breath is air filled with fragrance.


What was unforeseen includes:

Clarinet, clarine, from clair: what is clear,
what is bright, distinct. To call, to claim.

Dissoluble tension in this beveled body, a restless antebrachial disquiet.
Insufflation wrecks, despairs, or revives.

Wetnesses consist of the spit on the crook
and the steams that collect
at the interior angles
of the transversal rosewood.

What burns; who breaks; how moans go:
Wasted whorls and arches
and arches and loops
& all the cork thrown away.

There is an algebra of endurance:
one can always suffer more,
draw up, draw out, draw off,
use up completely,
go on.

Stalk wholly fragile things.
a two-day kiss ache
(The floor he wants you on.)

The dark-blue beloved.

Ready apples,
bergamot marmalade,
clean brackish waters.

Ten tongued fingertips.
And And And & Also:
gray eyes.