Monday, December 15, 2014

assorted (unidentified) things described


like a kitten is how it sounds, small sounds in subtle almost-rhythms


it just sits there. never moving. not even when the windows are open , out remains out. what is in, appears to be entombed.
___well sure, yes_ you can warm it and cool it. , _the ghost is warmer or cooler doesn't change the fact of the ghost. (if we were speaking about a ghost).
______- oh yes, on that i agree entirely , they're rarely solo - but of course we're not speaking about -

* *

the morning bright is gone by mid afternoon. _the pace , balance , composition of things :
it affects everything. it is shaped like a pear: a thin morning , with a large, obtruding evening that starts early and lasts most of the day. getting heavier so that 6pm feels like midnight and every minute after grows_ heavier _and __slower and __deeper _and ___rounder ___and

* **

it isn't the same every time so it's hard to prick it to the wall. [still she wants to know]

outlets have to dry out. then you're stuck with what you've planted in the garden , and of course you're terrified of what's sticking out the ground - you wanna wait around till that thing's grown? - but so, then, the thirst is overwhelming so you dig up the roots and drink the dream of it back out, which doesn't help so much, thirsty and drunk now with the dreams you sowed and these... _things that surround you , damn the silence (i know it's been raining, whenever i walk out the ground is wet, there's no sound i just want to hear something) damn the silence of it , and if the rain is silent then fingers on keys can imitate that well enough

relieve the silence.
____but how'd you get soo far out there that you can't hear anything? how'd you drift out that far? 
___she wants to know that.

* *_ *,

my whole lower torso: wrapped in a cloud. soft as vanilla ice-cream and that gentle too.


no, you can't call it a dream. a dream at least is real in the sense that it existed once, as a real experience - it happened - you did have that dream. this isn't that. it's an illusion. a fantasy. it never existed, except as a collection of what-ifs you organised into an agreeable structure and stood back and picked the petals off of and rubbed against your eye and hoped to intoxicate yourself into believing.

___but then, i was there. i was. there was more than just the sand dunes out there. i'm sure of it. what it was - who can tell now - but there was more than just the sand dunes out there. i'm sure of it. what it was - who can tell now - but there was more than just the sand dunes out there. i'm sure of it. what

_** __*

these cards, you there, excuse me, these cards, are they valuable?
depends on the game you're playing son.
right , and so, what game are we playing?
how do i know what you're playing - you normally pick that yourself - which have you picked?
i hadn't thought i was playing at all to be honest. i just found these in my pocket, i can't decipher them.
ditch them and run, why are you wasting your time with all that then?

* "*" __***

i'm too distracted to read.

there's a stone in my shoe.

i can't think it out, it's lodged in tight. __/

(long ago, it was summer once. i know this is true (who can tell now - but there was more than just the sand dunes out there) because it was annoying hanging my sheets on the line every saturday.

the stone is the stone of that summer. the dream in its root.

and every minute after 6pm, it is far

gone and goner.


somewhere there is an easy sleep
at the end of all this.


1 comment:

karleia said...

This is it. The beauty is back in this one.