Friday, April 03, 2009

extracts from tomorrow

a fine mist… fading at the mouth ahead of a mirror that holds our residue, we lean over, there we witness our multiplicity, lost in the turn of following deep down, down in search of earth to pile around our words and all of a sudden send up the appearance of nowadays

we perceive little else apparently, little else that others between us show signs of, they possibly appear everywhere, but we distrust their might and upset their looking for

and perhaps they don’t exist these stifled elementary images… pointing for so long at the same spot, at times we lose sight of its presence and doubt altogether the world, nothing that we know is untouched by living the unnoticeable

in pinching ourselves, our ears wake up to the sound of drawbacks circulating,

the voice of tearing clothing and the shame of burnt foreheads, as we contort into daze and feel progress galvanise within our breath, this hazardous perfection again apprehended our pleas, but didn’t shrivel up their collars, turn there sleeves into their jackets or button down their quick intonations

gripped with confidence, the same on each face, it would be just like them to press tighter as we push away, the ones who crowd behind us, the ones who pull…

still there is no risk to be run if they know well in advance who to grant examples to and who to permit pains their full bursting

as fear cracks the finish on perfectionism, don’t try to use our arms as stays, any gestures slump in line with what seems to be giving way, gently we forget to turn around, lower our eyes and pass among them with everything emanating the impression of heads thrown back, quite proudly we observe the turns away, the turns inward…

standing near again, we take our allotted point among the surer of the frightened ones, they lay down, their feet climbing the walls, shaking to the bones with each command to leap into life, still they lay, their thin cracking voices restoring hoops for the future

silence is re-established, we lost ourselves for a moment, no distinction between every detail and the ways of imitating

it is to be suspected that towards the heights of dismay come crushed looks and uptight airs, these liberties we take with the leads we follow, scamper away as soon as thoughts look us in the eye and matter of factly think us through

purpose done, images at rest, but we know the grammar of exasperation, taking a big forgotten example and brandishing it alive or dead

what is it you have in mind? the lengths we remember are just a clatter of artless sounds, dull as the gaze of air

could it be that we have hardly broken the double, when standing a good distance away a confused hum crowds out possibilities

extracted from meandering we bear ourselves, open up to the surge that stills and returns in rhythm, breaking silence into particles,

outlined by threads that remain at the end, as they remained at the beginning, drawing on the eye as they pass, the head nods, the body stiffens,

the path carved out is polished as a precaution, we can not only feel our way, but stubbornly pursue our way sometimes, without care for tearing ourselves apart

in mesmeric consideration of intermediaries who lean over the full face of themselves and show to the impressed how final and pivotal are the slowly perched remains of who is ready to see all, however it seems to us, turned always with one eye, as if respect enforced distance and kept us at the wayside, loose and getting away with the wanted

spread too thin, these fragments concentrate where they will, broken down even further if that is possible, no rigid sentences, but exploded identities, peopled still, but coming to the will of everyone, freely accepting just about any difficulty to gather the days into form and replace the barely perceptible trembling, each shy glance makes

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