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

into this
lasting sentiment
the street performer
pours her
soul
and while she steps
forward
for our benefit
her posture
is all
thumbs
and
dampened
sound

i think i
feel for
her
but all i can
do, nonetheless
is watch
and pour my thoughts out
into a
nearby
drain

we are
isolated
and retired
and beaten down
until our
jaws
threadbare
like our
notions of
apology
quaint and
damaged
while small
glimmers of
hope
hesitate
behind
grey layers
of
fog

the understatements
accumulate under the
stairs
weighed down by
an age of
dense particles
reducing
our
ideas
to small
platforms

and so it is to disappear
to render oneself
out of this
landscape
make it fold around
you
in a zen
attainment
of absolute
zero

this energy
is
all
is all that
is recovered
after
when
outside our
hours
we suppress
all thoughts
of
energy
is
all
and
when
what is recovered
beyond
boundaries
of
sensation
is
all
acounted for
in
growth
properties
of follicles
and
when
is all
known
about the spectacle
about
the
device
departing
is all
recorded
by
small
fragments
and
is all
expressed
as
code
when
horizons
shift
and
sensibilities
drift
when
is all
all
all
all
red
shift
-ed
and
when is
falling
might mean
something
again
might
mean
is
all
might
mean
to
fall
or
an end
of all
energy

as the lines
drop forth
and the afternoon
widens
while
/when
people gather
and spontaneously
hum
in sync with
the stained
artifacts
of modern
mechanisms

they can dance
too
but today
choose
not
-focussing instead
on the
intersecting angles
and the
harmonies
of crushed
iron

uneven distribution
of pigment
on paper
is unsettling
in this
sacrificed
light

inside this public
square
where there are 14
people
standing /idly
quietly
slipping in and out
of array
sets
/geometrical
significance

is settled
only in askance
appraisals
a sense of
temporality
tripped up
on the final
misaligned
step

quietly before
the public
sphere
detects
your presence

in the 14
becoming self-
aware
loosing their touch
with idleness
and
instead groping
towards
the
ugly
finale
/geometric
certainties

the old man
reaches over
and pats the
younger man's hand
in
acceptance
he tells the
young man
that
even though
the both
now share
these cloudy
eyes
there once
was
at time
....
a time
when he saw
fire
and could reach out
to its
subtle depths

i am a set
of impaired
mechanisms
left
overnight
in the
dew
and
rain
and
raw
morning
sun
light

the earth has its
perspective
that exists
beyond our
small horizons
and limited
reach of
hand

if i can
grasp these
discarded leaves
and scatter
them across the
sky
then i will never
be able to
know
the infinite
subtleties
of
dead senses
feedback

this smallness
exists in the way
that light
falls
on the
undergrowth

these hours are
responsible
-for the monsters call
-for the
inflamed
knuckles
-for evenly distributed
grinding
sensations

these hours have
found us all
at the bottom of
the garden
plunging our hands
past the ice
past the frozen
layers of algae
until our eyes
are soaked blue
in sympathy with
the
sky

we
have no sense of
responsibility
or temperance
of anger
or
....

there is always
a sense of foreboding
left in suspension
before breaking
ice

a fear of
perfectly preserved
earth
and pivots
of perspective
that encompasses all
and leaves
trace elements
for future
paleontologists to
ponder

for
we are the disruption
points that can only
be accounted for
in the revelation of
greater
distribution
structures

the unexpected scent
of chocolate
floods me
and dumps me out
again
in Brunswick St

a small component
of wonder
stirs
-resets the patterns
for the hours
remaining

I have been listening to
this empty
music now
I have been listening to it
for a long time
untill it has
absorbed my
skin
blemishes
-turned them into
a murky
soup