I feel the need to thread some words through an eyeball. I lament the literality of the world. I miss the significance of glistening. An invisible power crawling out of a gray sky. The wonder of it. Shelley’s poem about it. I like decorations, too. Headlights on Christmas Eve. Fog and angels. Winter splashed against my forehead. The metaphor is a brocade, an appurtenance purged of embarrassment. The chair corroborates its mahogany. I can feel it. It’s stunning to mull on it. I dive into books. The room roams in quest of itself. There are trousers in the closet. But who says ‘trousers’ anymore? The shadow of a preposition wrinkles with hunger. It’s only natural to sit and wonder about such things among your clothes. This is what introversion was invented for. That, and philosophy, which is nothing like cactus. And yet, somehow, everything like cactus. There is a dissonance there that flames revelation. As soon as we grant an interior, we discover chiaroscuro. We find the right horizons, the ones that go on forever, just beneath the thumb. No universe is exact. Even the escalator insinuates a species of wilderness. Imperfection is the spring in the mattress, the one that squeaks a little, as it accepts the weight of the body. It’s the past that’s impenetrable, that eludes our substitutions. The paragraph operates by sprockets. No worry there. Just the usual mythologies eloping with halibut. I tried using a bulldozer for the salt, but to no avail. I climbed into some music and expanded my interest in elbows. How they bend, how they feel when you lean on them while sitting at some extraordinary table. Words are made of air. Air is breath. Breath is life. Therefore we swim in sound, shining and trembling when we reach the other shore. Everything is so malleable that malleability brightens in understanding, inspiring a lap dance or two. I will never know quite what to say about the waterfall. How it got here. What it’s doing here. How it suddenly emerged into consciousness. But there it is, falling over that edge of rocks, thundering, spraying, dropping to the river below, which is just what happens, thanks to gravity, thanks to space.
In the Murk
1 day ago