from by Adjy



It starts with one thing,
then the echoing -the feedback loop begins,
the clock hand cuts within,
my eardrums hum hard,
every sharpened knife dulling in my head
the here-and-now is there-and-then;
that road that "her" -that hopeful end…
That record on repeat
it only plays the first week.
It skips and starts again
each time more unaware of how it ends.

It skips… and then… again...

That "Nothing real" meant the whole world to me
-skin and bone like a tome; I wrote it all on you.
Reading into text what we needed,
now the line is too blurred to interpret it.

Time to time,
I still catch it night to night; a gypsy moth to lamp-lit-limerence
lit late june in Illinois.
I'll meet you late…I'll meet you too late…
One more round the lake -drink in that desperate haze;

It will pass me like a fever,
but It skips… and then again…

That record on repeat…
…the first week
-the rode
-the heat

…it skips I'm back again
in every skip a gulf to rend
in echo-send.

… and all at once
once more

-too quick to quench; the iron tore
...so let us melt down and back to ore!

Why'd you come here in thrill of night, under satellite?
-I never noticed them before!


from Another Flammarion Woodcut, released May 5, 2015


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