Friday, February 17, 2012

inkling

Just like that it goes from mood to moment. Just like that the day again is new. The sun sops away the tattered tomorrows that never found out how to fix to a frame. For this sentence all the boundless blues of a running tab, all the lit up hints of possibility from the sustain of this phrase. Back and forth from tongue to tooth, then breath and again. The lustrous and dull mechanics of this fleeting translation. Language binding  the language bound.

These brief divinations, the furtive transference of thought into this flood of self and flesh. Bare branches knitting halos in each reflection, words withheld all the stretch of wiring we need. A glancing dance, a drafty sing-along where we all move at once, the spark seeping in through these familiar distances. At once intimate and remote, love and advertisement. Words hung in the very air, as if just the drift will do.

I go about my daily failings, get lost amid the respite of sin. I cross the gap, I break the circle. Story after story falls away as every doorway dwindles. Words take flight and soar towards glory. Words steal wings and go crashing into the obdurate sea. The seasons wait to steal tomorrow from the spell of pale surprise. You can still find me, tripping through some whispered dreaming. You can still catch me scuffing up the dust, there until the thought is gone.

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