he paused at an intersection--with a
pedestrial roundup at his back.
an orange hand's superhuman staving
power instigated a muted version of:
"Waiting for Godot".
then an orange sleight of hand's
arrhythmical numeric funnel, bumped
into a walking lime figure.
he then turned around as if wrested from
consternation, having thoughtfully
weighed the group dynamic of intimate
friendship.
almost like moonwalking with Nintendo One graphics, he paced their unscripted
diaspora.
blockade-wide arms outalking his mouth as he stated: 'you know what...you guys should go without me.'
what followed was the hammering down
on a crosswalk's piano keys--that melted
into a pending desensitization.

an immediate deadlock--off into one
another, the clear poison of reflections
that see.
as if windows to the inception of
windows, down to square flecks.
the luciferian tableau of mastered
masters falling in hate.
all that can be known is the other--to
expose is to be exposed, thereby
becoming the exposed.
daggers dually plunged, a victoryless
savor.
somewhere there are two mirrors--they
are aware of that, but no longer know
which is which.
rain's silver streak twists glassy skies to
a crooked flash of white.
the surging filth of shadow selves crawl
for privatude, in that hellacious unboxing.
now space itself cannot be the intermediary of opposing mirrors.

oceans converge & breach a single

surface--roll toward me as a globular

bulge comes up to be fed.

the shiny sweat of a vicarious void

slurps as it snarls--chases its own face,

that refuses to wash off.

it is then i fall back on what i truly am--

with a look of acknowledgement.

there's such a buoyancy to what aligns

depth.

the icy reception of fingertips pawed

on a face of intellectual mortification--

more like vacancy at the height of

its powers.

ie, ascriptive energy can be destroyed.

arguably the same as extremities

touching dissolution.

with that--today felt like an accidental

penmark on the back of a canvas.

it is not worth mentioning that today is

not over yet, seven minutes remain for

this contradictory statement.

streetlights stood like counterintuitive
candle snuffers, or surgeons passing
out with their headlights on.
as with that which cannot be named, the
broader sense of any word: wind.
linearly gone, its goneness blew in tandem--as if direction's not to be believed.
with no sound, if it weren't thru things as
they were--yet sound became of wind.
there is no clarifier of these obfuscations,
i myself was held as responsible as the
night.
black hood on, with all the solitariness of
of a walk wandering into something far
more in its element by extension.
coldly slumped over, leaves ripped away
from, then to--(disambiguation)?
not quite.

albification comes

over ether.

when strangers

walk by--

holding their peace

like failed seekers.

this particular rain rode out

all obviousness to its absence--

then fell as what is left of a life.

making it impossible for any

stock to be taken--because of

its perfect consideration.

as if a reinforced hug to aversion.

one was reminded that there is an

outside with no reprieve, & that

one can be in two places at once.

when you're made to sit with It,

you don't know how you got there.