Old hands held this song, slipping out of great effort, incapable of infant elaboration. A windfall of drop weight intervals argued points grappled with resentment. Or was this just an ingrown motivation?

Why do I care? What is my reach? Where am I standing that I am not involved? Yet it’s gone down a rabbit hole… You say yes, but mean something that has no words. You agreed already, or was that even an option?

You are singing with the wave you are on, taking credit for the pronounced difficulty of doing so. Self-guided, eroded grain silos. Hovering saucers at dinner with wooden sporks, and an iron latch on the door.

The fire place slenderizes the air with its light leaf tongues. Blue is not a color, then again ideas are not information. And the sky is the ground to the people on the other side of the globe.

The illusion’s effort to replace the shadow with an advertisement backfired. Now, the whole of the observable incarnation is humbled into a grounded model of self-deception. No decision, no deception. No reason, no stance taken in a motionless pebble flinging along a short-wave radio broadcast lost in a late night twist of the knob.

Talk about infuriating memories, a bout of dry dreams gathers in the frontal lobe like a bubble of indeterminate causation. Laugh as you will, with bits and bites constructing a field to plant these nodes of connection. Constructing a paradise loop in a gravel pit that used all the mountains rocks as a metaphor to prove it didn’t exist.

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