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reypulque

Member Since 2007

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ingenue

Dec 1, 2024
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The stumble comes along with the stipple of the stars and the mumblings of mud, the lilt as the phrase does the falling, this ache displayed as idiom as fireworks crackle and the train declaims. So much comes in the blunt almosts and the odd sparkles, the glimmer just beyond the horizon line, the world revealed in flashbacks and jump cuts as the echoes fill the blanks with flashing teeth and false bravado. The tumble of dusk, the dull color of the deepening sky, night alone all along in the litany of warm curves and wide eyes. Not so much the kiss, nor the thought of the kiss, but that heartfelt idea of the possibility ahead of the plausible. Love despite the evidence, the placement of a face.

We’re there in the paraphrase, the reconfigure and the strategic retreat. We are more and more beset with the same old stories in shorter cycles, old orbits and clipped obits within the weary mythos, cold to the bone and damned by omission. It is the soul below this shambles, the degree of ignominy left to pad out the reach of the proscenium and scrape away at the rake of the stage. The theater surrendered to long shadows and the glow of the ghost light, this dream left to a flutter of eye lids, a flicker of a form that you grew through. A name you knew at first as word.

So bright skies stampede across the bruised and beaten detritus of sight, the weight of the anchor, the drag of more obdurate elements expressed in the blur of work. So the words empty out in their saying, the plodding on and pushing through, what was done and settled as stone the drift of a soft and dreamy snow trailing grammar in hills and piles. The breath drags and draws, the wheeze and saw of this weathered organism the pleading of the instrument, a song so deep in the motion of stone and star the least brush of it can spin a soul asunder. The plot trods on, the boards all abound despite the further pressing of the players and confusion in the wings. Soon the background gives it up, the roles fewer as the names fade. Something left there like a story, a story another reason to stare.

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