acoustically

filling out: some formal relapse, a reviving of the thing thought lost. i thought wrong. you see. i near blinked myself away in the rush & pull of it, some small of days. a slip, a damned fine thing on this morning. hush. the room's not too silent, but speaking isn't the most full thing

lexically. eyes snag together. you know: gritting against the catch of wool in fingernails. it's disconcerting like that, but i've trimmed my sails & tack away. there will be no more of the old sliding, the slinking of memory & desire. o no, darling, we have not forgotten. perhaps you'll wish we had. but we've got the blood flowing again. shall we dance?

another round this time, a slick geometry - the filament of life. this case of nerves i've had has spent itself, the low buzzing level of adrenalin maintained for so long i feel as though i've lost a habit, a friend, some reflexive need. i'm falling into my own traps of syntax. divvy me up: clinic or asylum? i am a case study for myself, the religion: creating problems & then solving them. magic.

but we're good, o yes. & we've got some fire, & we're sharpening. ha. at last i am not afraid; i cultivate. the self held back returns to the body, a slam to ground. the electric fluid descending. i've remembered, as if from a past life, the driving: the motor, the galvanic impulse.

fear? hush. caution. fragmenting away but this time: not the self but the shucking off of the old thing, no longer rising. this heady air is not a new thing, just an old tradition. let's leave the library for now & prowl the streets, lovely. there we can break what we feel. we'll make all the noise we want.