On Method -- Mary Margaret Sloan

Air or a set: idea's lifespan. Start here:
count crowds clouds flood. Nonentities
populate thickly and solidly as we sweep away
the grounds, fantasia categories. Let, for convenience,

the data, however doubtful, speak for itself. Writing up a storm
the stylus wears away the perimeter; leaving it
out left nothing. Out right fictions assume
prevailing views. Winds through waves keeping
the contours in shape, gradients blue

melt In a deformable mirror; the palace loses a wing
in an elapse. Ground to shape gathering starlight, here
is a place perennially estranged, previous to current,
literally present in the midst of the most remote mixups.