This is placement of the degradation, these are the words with the sun in your eyes. The signal beset with subtle errors and abrupt glitches, mistakes in the punctuation amongst the other unspokens and unspeakables, static stippling the map of the mind. Plodding disambiguation as the shapes reassemble and the stencils assert themselves, thinking the world aloud as we slip on fitting skins, our ways mostly say. The sun sets as sparrows flit and feed, devoted to the known. Every line is scattered with a scan, the symbols and schema scattered, the 52 Pick Up of cognition in every act.
This is the perineal shuffle, the signs of the season, the tumble of the phrase. Meaning made fresh each day, a ship carefully tacking towards the ominous intonations of a gathering storm, tables for times and tides. The particulars take place while you weigh and speculate on the percentage of the coherence, using what culture you carry and the dictionary you rewrote, the dream revealed in the misremember. Leaves turn color and spill and spin with the hurry up and wait of the wind, the depth of detritus confused with wisdom in the mumbled candor of the earth. Each name a remembrance forgotten, every word a set of empty boxes and implicit matryoshka doll, a summoning of echoes.
The day ends in smoke and porch lights, in cat dash and dog exclamations, a rag tag cant of lore and remaindered grammars strung together across the gaps and the negative space. So I inhabit these inhibitions, the prophylaxis of noun and adjective, the earthly culling of the vocabulary of a semi sentience of gasp and grope. The two step stagger of the shtick, inside the guard with a hat tilt then the old one two, the rule of threes in partners and pairs. Neither the calling or what they called me I fade and gutter, an inmate of a thousand idioms and affectations left to the slow burn. A light left on for reasons only known to the dead.
