& now 20 years later, Mr. Photographer slithers around again, like an outsider. Going in circles.
But then this sketch is another prelim, a lead-in. The poet solo is not enough, is insufficient, incapable. He need help. Where does the "ink-feather pen" come from? Read on, friend, & find out!!!
from Shakespeare's Head
What might be descried from such murky battlements
of a rotten little state? From elevated Terrace
the reproduced patriarch looks like pumice.
Air seethes through filed pediments.
The iron rail on the cliff is a kind of grid
or magic lantern blanket for a snail. All shell,
One slimy footpad
leftover. But lights will go up again –
Walter will play the untested understudy –
will sketch the shadiest, draftiest city –
not with a bang, but an ink-feather pen.
Roger Williams Memorial, Prospect Terrace