this morning
presents as a
wave function
it's curve
restless against
my
spine

the scene regenerates
as the ideas
coalesce
around the
mans poor
sense of
composure

he struggles
to walk against
the crowd
against the
detritus of
500 years
of civilized
behavior

he struggles
with themes
of
self determination
and
self deprecation
and
see's instead
his arms
falling away
as he
tacks
through the
mass
migration
of 'contemporary
explanations'

all the while
he murmurs inaudibly
"i am the
smallest
most inconsequential
exception to
the rule..."

the scene is
now composed
of a small
tree
upon a hill
upon which
he looks up
at
from the base
and smiles

he understands that
sideways momentum
is with him
now
an accumulation
of absurd
turns

all this sawdust
dissipates
as the hot
northerly winds
build up
beyond the
hours
bending properties
there is no further
risk
to our ideals
as
the tonnage
is poured out and
over the
indentation
no further knowledge
about what has
been
lost here
as
winds carry
our scattered
brains
across
this
landscape
in an expansion
process
that blunts
our
senses