restrung

Out where the inside eyes turn around, out upon that edge of breath, the almost dreaming insists, all kisses and skins. The slipping under the surface self rising by immersion, head first and all at once head and shoulders above the moment. The long slow fall of light, the ever headlong night a tug and a tumble while the moon weighs on the mind. The self recedes, the insistence of the almost happened and the should have been, contradictions and counterpoints falling endless down the spiraling stairs of recollect. Only the organism paces the cage, the spirit a relentless habit. A hollow with the whole world to wear upon. The illusory end painted on the scenery.

It’s all orbits and appetites, the who you know and how you serve them of it. The long path of happenstance, the swallow dropped, the arrow loosed, the armory of old saws and workhorses left skulking in the alcoves of allusion. The shortest distance between two points is a lie. We turn on the tricks we play upon our light, such a sad and starveling flame. The explanations left scattered reckless in our wake. Just a misplaced object worrying a missed mark. Just an instrument in need of strings. 

Days they come, days they go. They go and they stay gone, the names all sold for numbers, the meaning always meant to miss. The flesh trembles a little, then collapses into dust. A shell game without the shells, telephone turning the whispers around in their syllables, the dance only kept alive by dancing. The animals as they clatter and they scramble, the animals as they writhe around the fire. This moon pushing in on every naked thought. The abandon as the wheels spin. The desperation of this shared breath.