A silken air bends the greenery in a tangled mind.
That would be the mind of the earth, which is a splash of calculus on the face
of eternity. Which is chronology when chronology occurs and the lonely gaze of
men in nightclubs. It’s the naked rupture of excursion when an excursion is
called for and the personification of prayer in a radio vibrating with the
definition of eyes. The eye is a ball of jelly. The human eye is an organ that
reacts to light and allows vision and colors. It does delicate things and lives
in the head. It liberates form. It does not completely answer why there is
something instead of nothing but it does a good job drinking a canvas by
Cézanne. Two eyes are better than one. Three is the optimal number. A third eye
in the forehead drags winter behind it. A third eye in the head pushes the
impact of an olive into the sag of time. Sometimes all it takes is a little
concentration to discover sewing, or infinity, or a sale on light bulbs at the
drugstore. Quarts of philosophy may be transacted by semantic obstetrics.
Gravity thickens as we approach a planet or a headlight made of words. You must
act like a cloth when the wrinkles of local emotion jerk forward churning in
abstraction. This is the time to play a sublime accordion. This is the time to
construct a symptom of rain. To open a suitcase in Wisconsin. To feel the
planets ride their orbits in tranquil velvet space.
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