Loop Morph

The sentence evolves into coherence as a herd of lips moving over the page with the dexterity of fingers picking up words along the way. Everything that exclaims the fertility of mass is eager to consummate a semblance of grammatical outboard that can push us forward toward the opposite shore. Which is exactly what a subject is. What a subject is subject to. Either a fly rod or a strong wind blowing over your casting shoulder. The density of mass which shines out of a stein is proof enough of Innsbruk. But language is more like thaw, the romantic thermodynamics of a mutual couch. It requires a warm hand and a hard outer layer of wilderness. If you’re like me you’ve probably already spent a lot of time googling solutions for the human condition. It’s like casting a line into a void of uncertainty hoping something bites and dreading the moment it does. Knowledge is always a little disturbing and slippery, like a fimbriated moray. Language comes from the other side of where I started. It slid through the unconscious like a penguin and emerged as a full-blown human. The names of the dead stream from the mouths of the living assuming a ghostly but vigorous existence. The constitutional crisis is now become a tenuity. More like a referee than a referendum. A man with a black bowtie trying to separate two sweaty grammars, even though everyone knows it’s fake. It’s hardcore theatre. We once had a body of laws but when the laws became a body the appetites profited from the situation and nominated themselves relentless. They ate the entire country. And then ordered a bowl of Venezuela for dessert. Proposal is more than a dispersal of words. It’s a form of carnation, a state of being with an added personal touch. You might think of it as something slid forward on the counter for a fuller appreciation of its many hues and facets. It’s not exactly as if I were trying to induce a hysterical reaction to something fairly mundane, but I would like to expand my options a little. I wasn’t sure it would happen like this. But it did. It stood first as a significance, filling itself with stone mullions and tracery. The imagination does this. It decants, allowing its fragrance to envelop you in voluptuous impracticalities. There are many challenges that I pass on to my predecessor, but burdening the past with my irrelevance isn’t one of them. I’m much more interested in zoetropes than proctoscopes. The big door closed on the riotous outer world and a light beamed through the rose window unhesitatingly defining itself as an ontological phenomenon in its own right.