Mnemonic Geography

Inland’s what I can memorize and recite, section and number, what I can
manage and get right. It’s pronounceable, certain that way. A quantity of
heat polishes the road. The hesitation–my ambivalence–takes the place
of racial variation, makes the high places straight. No misgivings, but the
continent itself. If inland gives on nothing, I’m delighted; if it’s empty, if
I’m an accident waiting to happen, I’m delighted. It’s the flat me, polished
to overstatement–to overstatement’s appearance–. Edgeless and partial to
nothing.

(To Michael Anania)