[from Lyn Hejinian's Saga / Circus, Omnidawn, 2008]
[two instances of Chapter Two (2) from "Lola"]
Maggie Fornetti walks by quickly in her left hand holding an iPod adjusting her headphones with her right.
Askari Nate Martin's calm strikes Maggie Fornetti as hostile.
He can imagine her going off to some weird place no one's ever heard of and coming back with an exotic wolfish sort of cat or rodent to exhibit before some startled audience forming a circle around the thing.
Askari Nate Martin is troubled, Maggie pretends not to see him hoping he will greet her, he nods indifferently and passes by unhappily.
Maggie tends to listen to pieces of music until she can no longer hear anything of them except her responses to her experiences of them which are often more of things or thoughts that occur while she's listening than of the pieces exactly, she thinks, in pieces.
When causes can't be repeated, you infer them from effects.
. . .
Maggie busily dissipates her doubts as to Nate's feelings by writing him a note in which she says nothing of her doubts or of his feelings, she says, I think the fog is in love with the sun, they're in an embrace, but the heat of the sun will soon send the fog on its way, and after that the afternoon will be hot as you'll see me scribbling this hastily before going down the fair hill by the trail through the poppies to the library to say thanks for the CD, see you around, this takes several cold drafts.
She's been here before.
Then quicker than the eye can blink now the trail is just like the trail as it was then but the one after that appears a shade darker.
The dogs up the hill come down their legs lingering.
It's not rare to see a beast flicker.
It's dimly maritime.
Maggie's often hearing the alarm this day she's walking.
This days she keeps her eye on the ground behind her.
The furtive detective is Askari Nate Martin as he leaps into shadows remaining out of view of the inside of the head of Maggie Fornetti just as the late afternoon light's pauses now move on.
He scowls in rage to warm the fingers at least that's an option, an opinion, however groundless.
Look shout the children in the grammar school playground from their swings that cross in the air.
Look out shout the curmudgeons and the charmers to the veering armies they imagine disappearing into the seemingly swarming dusk.
The sky hovers like a nurse over a wounded man putting her mouth to his ear.
It's just like a turkey vulture, thinks Tio Levette, to expect something always to turn up dead.
Not to put it off not to be put off -- it's unthinkable to Maggie Fornetti to think that Askari Nate Martin is unobligingly indifferent and so differently obliged to love, she thinks, not Maggie Fornetti.
Saga / Circus