.


   the ripples in purple fabric wrapped loosely around your crumpled
Frame  :

The
small ghosts seeking refugee between each automated
Stitch  ,
Which
Creates basket-hole //
Blanket-sof,t cubby-units
For
Respite after wandering

Store me away there for
Later.    
   alligator .


Radiate
Out
From

The film under your
Eyelids / it’s
Unbroken meniscus
World ,

Hiding
Big creatures
There From the.   interruptive
  view of
Mankind  .




Prism  .
Gun.
You





   /and
other short stories about the
  making of the.universe

In this age of instant gratification and expanding hive mind at our fingertips,
A 2D projection of the whole world is turning into one location .
These are the purest forms -
Untortured by corporeality .
These are the shadows at the back of the cave, if ever there has been .

With all of this here to observe and ponder ,
It would be disservice to ignore the nature of these tools -
This evolving human state

Man
Made
Man

And
The making has never yet
Stopped .

We may yet falter at the edge of the colliding tectonics /
Be crushed by nascent peaks /
Be swallowed by the sundering seas and cast into new abyssal reach

We may yet
Break apart into scattered pieces
At the cusp of escape velocity /
Disintegrate into nothing more than a debris cloud /
Serve only as a dusty web of obstruction for others who may come later to bat

We may
Become a spiteful
Net
That’s wrapping around the globe and the greatest artifact of all of our failures -
Ugly poltergeists looking only to hold back the light /
We may seek others only to
bring them down to our level, such that our memory doesn’t
Get
Left behind.


Or
we may hone a deeper focus
And a wider gaze of what Home really means


We seem to be afraid of knowing -
Of being .
We numb ourselves into perfectly manicured stupors ,
Cast roles for ourselves and the rest of the world such as to frame ourselves as victims of our very existence

How are we to know without knowing?
How are we to decide where to step without map of our footfalls?

If ignorance is bliss -
Then omnipotence must be a more supreme form of
Agony
Than felt ever before.

Yet here we find ourselves
Wanting both :
Seats at the pantheon - and also the kind of
Guidance
Offered to children.

Many
Demand it, even.
Demand everything.

What lowest common denominator
Will define us?

Shall we slumber
Ever
Again?
Shall we deserve to?

How will we recognize and be
Recognized?


How will we love?
Who will be worthy of such love?
Who will we dare to say are truly unworthy?


How much time do we have left to
Decide?











Here.
Now.
We.

keep pushing on ropes .   instead of untying our tongues
keep touching .   our sleeves to the table
like accidents in waiting
like breath on a bad neck  .i fight to remember     the touch of grass
i keep down
it's dust. it's talking behind the school yard
it is.
sunn beating down

the split door
glazy
doe-eyed
as a []



standing on the train, no hand holds

zip ofthe doorline oppening like leggy
flow like salt and diamonds chiming intercom
chinese bell

The spermicide in your voice
The sink drain spinning
     .After much coaxing


The hair clumps climbing in bromine drips

As the acid burnt label’s yellowing edge
Waits for  further  corrosion  in the cabinet

As we seek to photosynthesize.  Into greater     limbs reaching

We shed the jitters

Humble before the promise of our own smallness

We feel the growth in our bones.

Thin.

Not yet as a door.

Not as an ear.

Not yet as a scar.

Not yet as a shadow.

Not yet as a self.

Yet.

Yet.

The ebbing

Of your eager look

As we roll our eyes,

And are no longer noticed by each other’s fingertips.

And no matter how hard it comes down,
It never comes close.
Then, summer meant something other than sweating.
Then, we ran the abandoned shoppingcarts through pothole oceans on the side street behind the mall.
Later, she changed out of the wet clothes and came out pantsless in the oversized Sweatshirt that would define **** forever.


(With damp hair still clinging to the back of her neck)


And if all the sad anime teach us anything : It’s that when things change, they can never go back

The pen is mightier than the sword.

Yet, we find that the ink on the paycheck is mightier, still.