there’s only one kind of thing that anyone ever says anymore (don’t say it!) and with that swirling adagio (can’t you see it!) welling up, brimming over with sweet sheaves of time, this one can’t seem to stop the flow. just because the lurkers sometimes glimmer on the horizon, lambasting the laggards and crunching on the bones and sinew, well, that’s no reason to quit. step lively, lads, step lively. :the pots of simmering curry boiling up, the grand caravans slipping down the sides of cliffs and edges:
frimsy mimsy porrow and pots, gobble up gobble up grobber and tops
on an opportune bag of sticks, the cavailing packerman sells his basket of snake’s oil and umbryallystuff–Zounds! or ‘Snot! or ‘Snails! or ‘Spleen! clackertyclack… clack… clack.
if the rails are finding their purpose in several severed trains on top of ’em, well, where’s the thing at? i meantersay, where’s the thing, that once they’re propt, they can’t be turned away?
there seems to be a (CARIBOU!) fizzing brainwave foistering itself on the minds of those two–is it some kind of echoing thing, bouncing one t’other?–a feeble grasping at some kind of (oi! watch those tired eyes blur into the pillow, siderwise, looking out one halfface, one halfpillor, and feel those blinkers winking, or, leaking tearstuffs, though not enough to feed a horse) purposal, i mean, propose, or purrrrrpuss.
**a note here about the cat. the cat is zooming all about the place, a pouring sink of slithering–imagine a glass of water pouring on into t’other, and you’ve got it–only sometimes, there is some kind of curled button stillness, and a sighing sleepiness that makes Someone Else imagine succulent hijinks down the hall, only to realize, yoinks! it’s only the cat zzznoring, dreaming of mothballs in her sleep.**
there is one who imagines–fitfully and with crunchings and squeaking of sparks, this not one well-oiled machine–some THING that would be worth gravitating towards, lending pieces of his own gravitational field (an electrochemical concoction, concatenation, a worthwhile brew?) to spin additional and helpful inertia into some slowly rumbling trowel. but bemeantimes, this one feels only like spinning and sparkling in some distant place, or maybe this one doesn’t feel LIKE doing that, just feels LIKE that. sprarkling behind glass. behind cool icy remove. watch that glimmer, but don’touch! keep that heat at some remove, and fear the burning that might engulf a simpler thing, scratching up into flashfire.