Intermezzo

I split a garish obscurity if, through happenstance, I see a white buffalo. They’re still talking about the curve we extended. May we wash below your iron, dear clouds, if the yardstick divorces itself from reality? We reach our water by flopping on it. A word or two stirs the gurgle. If I’m feeling warm I can flutter around the locomotive which your autonomy has sanctioned by armed guard and telephone. I’m approved around here. Just ask the local press. Ask autonomy. Ask my sweater. It’s mohair. 

Somewhere above the French antenna the sky churns with its ominous toys. Electrical wires crackle in the rain. I’m finding what I find when I find it. The tools are autumn, lying across one another like ribs. The rumination lying on the bottom is perfectly impaired, and therefore salt. There’s an allegory beyond our perception waiting for the right words to come along and bring it into view. I oppose nothing, except opposition. The rake leaning against the wall has shaped my understanding of Being. And the sunset behind the gardenia includes a cow. We’re feeling tangential, and conversational, and the escalator is littered with twigs. There’s a swamp beside the garden and whatever bubbles up is rescued by adjectives. Please stand still. My hug will enhance you. 

The circles are revelatory. They always have been. I like to consider the implications before moving them toward our conversation. Are we having a conversation? Or is this just so much oleomargarine? It wasn’t gambling that built our casinos. It was the paradox of chance: that something as abstract as a handshake has turned into fist bumping indicates an enduring communion. I broke the surface when I took my dive. The river shoved itself into a waterfall and a team of specialists cut it into strips of pink ribbon. I’m straining right now to palliate an appalling lack of bugles. The explanations are all swollen. 

The hospital is lit up by the eloquence of fireworks, and seems peaceful in its gauze, as if wandering through itself architecturally and unpacking all of its stories. We can achieve so much just by whispering, and tasting each moment as it flickers around the chandelier, coughing and cursing. We’re the break it or build it people, you know? It’s what we do. Throw basketballs at the future. We get lyrical when someone brings the chocolate chip cookies out. And the parrots repeat what we say in lines borrowed from Emerson. I now have the willingness I need to move the oars and bring this aluminum into fruition. The shore awaits, and the garage door is open.