This late in the day, the mail delivered and the banks all closed, the traffic keeps spilling as the shadows stretch and the pavement implores. Cracked asphalt and the perseverance of weeds the whole of the story, just life and the varying impediments that apply, the statistics on the can and will the tangible matter and the visible spectra. I wish I could credit anything save life and limb for this perchanced dreaming, these load bearing placeholders that are most of our work in this world. I watch as my stories unravel in the telling, as the earth persists in taking all our claims in stride.
The day drawls off, reconstituted moments unspooled between sense and sentience as this song plays as notes and the inferred actions of tongue and tooth, the shape of a kiss sending shivers towards the mortal. The sun in the shrugs of trees, this spark caught in a torrent of remembered limbs and lips. I sit, a mess of spoiled meat and recursive regret, caught in these hair-triggered synapses firing in loops and closed circuits while the point goes missing. It loses something in the ephemeral, these strange wishes granted by the daily blind grinding, something lost in the perception. In a world of infinite possibilities, it’s hard to get some probabilities to play along.
Smoke ascends and the winds take the leap. A sore headed heart and a broken starter, these aches that long ago won the war now spend their days rubbing my body’s face in it. I am all bad posture and stiff shoulders, leaning awkward over these pecked out fragments. Absurdly counter factual in my implicit ambitions, the abstractions fed by the self delusions of the ancients and the stubborn declarations of the design, I turn with the worms and seethe with relentless appetites. Touch and taste, sight and scent, and the music at hand. The sky is a held breath blue and the dogs are barking on spec. This want wants what it wants, however you work the words.
