zigzag

switchbacks may be on the incline, my zigzag course through the pliant undergrowth blanched sidesteps in an effort to start back at white

teetering on minimum illumination, idling in front of restraints, even flaunting tick-over as an effective shape-up

in defecting from previous distortions she overlapped herself

it was possible to withstand so much, but how much? when was enough once and for all enough?

set against endurance was exodus clout

having your fill, a supply that makes up for… when it was a great gag, the epitome, no less, of an unrealistic jest

turning

and if first was important you would have said so, I’m sure of that…

she, always in touch, always in two, drawn into barren approaches, like the smooth, dim light that flickered… flick, flick, a whip to any form of celebration…. can you imagine a move made “give me a break” she wanted to say, but “give me” was a stretch for her loopholes, dug at dawn for the everlasting onslaught that we call nowadays, back then you could call it an opening in the wall, she thinks of secret pushovers and winces,

first things first, a skyhook for beginnings or agnostic primaries

then again, was it so bad after all, the falsetto of a double pitched o,

as if never again could a reach be taken so seriously… “follow me” is easy to hear, this is the way: down the road, turn left, life

but if I consider any kind of preamble it would be this: do not under any circumstances rehearse that turning

the word first

on the last night,
I heard myself say again “there was a faddishness to the way you faced first things, almost as if the word first was itself pure whimsy”

yet when bathed in immediacy, the original source received; this was little known or accounted for, both she and you redirected the fleet as a result of being one and the same

the brief (stated elsewhere) said “twenty-four hours, a red rag” no bull

flushing was your only defence in the dredging of adopted distributions; trafficking the allotted details only harbours colossal stances of irrelevance

this day breaks with reckoning

in totting up artificiality she came to the conclusion behind all conclusions, and there, chipping away at vocabulary, in the pick and choose surroundings that make up idea, ran concurrent themes of taking part and taking apart, it was not then known whether fortune shone with the flow or against

apply

a composition in four movements weighs on medley, dusts down corrosion,

gnawing at you from below erasure, comes a shroud

(a sheet, between the three winds)
a flyer for flight

this is how red-eye deprives sight of sleep

you can see through the entire release and scramble,
scrabble indeterminately
for quarters in distant circles

pinned-up in the clearing is the itinerant streak
facing the allusive ideal of Timbuktu

you occupy traits like an arrow

privilege (pilgrimage)

to lay
open, freely hand over to
rescue, a vacancy

you know the unfilled site and call it’s bluff to defeat efforts of shield: in the baffle-ments

there has long since been a lack of spectacle, yet on the stage of hoodwink all connive to nod together

incubating a fable

laying down a fib that skips with shoe-laces, tethers and takes up the slack

giving kink a stay of execution: a punishing mental twist

with a noose around ideas that pester to the point of embarrassment

in a pact, so pale it is beyond fastening, a hybrid of rare perhaps
it is time to junk the linear clobber

for the privilege of medley

uprooting a territory

if you were to say no matter what is read there is a linking disquiet running successive influences
(- to run across an uninterrupted in-flow)
comparable to
or barely different from:
connective powers operating consecutive unease

if you were to say: no matter what we barely suspect
would this alter our reading? or alert our reading of

and this day tugs at appearances, yanks at desires from the brow down

our reading of unease is secure in the knowledge that winging it is a prompt in itself

and these lines learn to track the wrong side

this isn’t the first time you have wandered slang-ways
it was a means of getting back to the subject

[exclaims] and the subject is!
as if we are plot-fed winners and losers

lift

in not knowing you, you existed in the inscription of instant, time lapsed into the back of re

(back when minutes were experts)

but in saying your y’s backwards it was difficult to call attention to something that did not exist, that did not plot a course

a word a
a word a

a word a whole word
all is minute-ly, only

The short-lived pinpoint with interludes

banished to wander on pinpoint
allowing passage through an impermanent needle-eye

in your dropping off early, every ephemeral direction lasts –

listening to compass: instrument of extent
a step half-seen between ground and ground, escorts

simultaneously

brief encounters

you encircled inside, were set aside, by an expression of distraction (drawn apart in novel-ty) a celebration, maybe, of incessant partiality (one-sidedness)

you wanted to write each moment, down to the wire, as if there was always something very brief, yet winning, to express

in this non-stop affair with allusion

it ti ii tt

“the second of two strings (enough existed for there to have been more) surprised pessimism

reading from the long list
holding onto categories
and still

you said “having expected to put down a few notes, you may find yourself blinded by intricacy”””

“the warm irony of neither

remarks devoted to cutting

uncovered eras in push and shove”

“ intricacy can lull if stood for”

“attached to believing in it

attached to it

it”

“it was intricate, it was lulled, it stood for, it uncovered, it pushed, it ironed, it cut…. it era

the it era

two strings it-existed
i
t

to linger between crossing the tees and dotting the iieyes”

“the situation describes a purely ‘negative capability’*, secretly present to the illegibly written, there is no separation between being able to and being”

* “Negative Capability, that is when a man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact and reason.” [John Keats letter Dec. 21, 1817]

a close scra

“attacked by mania – is that what is said when disorder paints out witnesses?”

“stopping to think again, think over again, how undecidability is choice under wraps, in excess of that which never stops”

“attached to thinking that what is said paints disorder witness-coloured, bystander tinted – disarray dyed by observation is said to tie thought down”

“pouring together story’s performance, discharges the said tale”

“with strings attributed to together, words attach more than is necessary to give, the allotted granting of what is not always agreed”

“the contingency plan is a…”

“… close scratch”