The rain runs through its prepared remarks, the sneak thief moon is coming on strong above the roofs and trees, days washing up upon the daily everyday. The context amorphous and ambiguous, old hat and hanged man the token of efficacy, the moment peeling away like casts of chitin as shapes bleed into the periphery. A notation of sore bones, mixed analogies and assorted alkaloids, and a vaudeville of emoting and other miscellaneous pratfalls. The point where knowing the accelerating countdown and the urgency of mortal stakes is just another day of sloth and sin wages. The sentence served running on and on, the nowhere story on a need to know basis.
The moon climbs the tree in the yard, a neighbor paces disapprovingly about their driveway, long shadows and blinding beams cast by security lights across the street. There’s no end to the play by play, the calling of the caster and the dither of the color, consequences disbursed in particulars and clouds of probability. From the shroud of dusk to the flagellations of dawn, the day just goes all day. Round and round, we all fall down. Long after nightfall, this longing left on.
It’s all in the numbers, it’s all in the talk, any symbol you choose or chooses you will do. The universe has room for you and all your thinking too. Mistake by mistake, we lose our place, the sway of the song and the mark on the map. Build and build, break and break, we love and fight and fail only assured of an inevitable extinction. So cold fingers and an empty husk tap away at the old one two, a modicum of smoke and the losing side on loop, and the loom of the moon make do. Something saved, something spent, budding limbs and the way the shine went away. The weather and persistent ailments as the nowhere is written in.