anecdotal

The shadows are reaching east, filling in the desolation in soft grays and cool blues, the spectra spilling swatches in the visible bandwidth and then some. It’s a day of dust and sparrows, a compression of comprehension along bands of beasts and birds, counting cracks and flies. It’s a day of disarray and bad beats, the stuffing coming out the seams. The old blood pauses and pools, the aches flowing unabated from lung to limb, breathing a slow sizzle spittle flickering throughout the forms. The structure is to suffer slings and arrows, the roots always good for a reach around, the words stained with smoke and vapor as they still in their stands. 

It’s like the way the blank page would thirst for even the pressure of the pen point, the dark longing of the ink another invocation moving across the water, the absence identified its own sort of summoning. It’s like a falling leaf sending sparrows dashing into flight, a particular stimuli touching a nerve, the stone rolled away from dire memory the stanza standing there in the paint. The timing of the tide inside dragging its skirts up and down the sand, the traces there saying grace as it erases it. The throat cleared with intemperate smoke, barking and gasping away after incantations. 

Now the hours beneath the painted on sky, glitter and asbestos and dust, a lamp lit firmament. Animals named in their comings and goings, dirt man’s first gig rehashed by association and disinhibition, heaven hale and hearty if only fishes were wishes. Bodies at rest and bodies in motion, first principles and poor rehearsals, no more broken legs mentioned before the current cast. The need to embrace the fade, the feeling a kind of feeding, cards turned and lots cast clinging to the transitory. This stirring, skin scratched and livid, words teeming and uncalled for tumbling over details, picking teeth and bones. Everything a secret until the say so goes.