Density, what's in that? I don't know another word for what I'm thinking. If it is too close it burns. Words burn. Somebody might say hot shit, planets, the earth doesn't fall apart, it's firm. Who goes in there. Back up, make a poem, not everybody has to believe in me. For example, would Frank O'Hara say that. I could check that out thoroughly. Dictionaries can tell you something but nobody really needs a dictator. Dictionaries may say things.
How much distance does someone need to accurately describe a toothbrush, for example, or create a definition for love. I was waiting a long time for that. Glad it's understood.
If you don't look close you can see the Eiffel Tower. If you look you can see it. I read magazines and discover all poems take place in galleries for example. I wonder how you would say that in French.
You can still see the Eiffel Tower. Pain lasts long no matter how long it is. I wonder how that would be spoken in Chinese. If you spoke to me in Chinese softly I would understand a great deal more of what you're saying. Got that? PLanets proceed on their courses, love isn't accurate, pleasure, after a after a after a after a word.
And what defines the grammar of density, the coefficients of communication, the minute meaningless gestures of obliqueness. A somewhat long pause could surprise the action of dictionary definitions, the monotonous frontline descriptions of chance, church liturgies are filled with such rituals that are constructed to contain the elaborate rhythms of mental speech. Orders of incantation are boring. But sometimes boredom brings such wonderful colorless explanations, smells and just plain astonishing emptiness. Ah the bells and the bells' voices are wonderful, they're appearing to hum a hieroglyphic diagram of word concepts.