report 000006: carried on the wind from the caspian sea

no. 1 (turning, & a stretch): it's tired here, yes, but o some way of difference:

falling into beds, slotted by sides turning over & when it's warm out the sun's up o babe let's rise & shine the day off, bicycling with no brakes & no need & only hunger & a pack of smokes, or maybe two for the two for the road.

summer coils, uncoils: there's woodsmoke in the air to-night, darling. forgive my rhapsodies. a time when colder just means jackets & starting fires. coming down from the mountain it was still warm, out where the flat shines a glisten in dust/heat/

you: pull on some stockings & we'll throw on our boots, a little less grey now but the laces still sticky with alkali & spilt drinks. (shivers a little) in this distance we cry no commentary, no whiplash. spit for glory; flip a flapjack; swing up the jolly roger: parataxis, pathways - they'll all go to hell; what of it? duels need no thirds, & with seconds like these the hours pull past, rush of orientation, spark& diamond.

back to the streets, autumn of our beginning. new times, new steppes: up here no need to unwind the magnet held, shot through with that vital fluid: continuity, dash, illusion. no sickness under these lights, no sunburn. gold: revisiting 1849, but no wagons this time, no pickaxes, no fear of winter comin' on: negative definition: dynamite.

it's like a sure thing, gathering underneath this evening; press the dust from our glasses: hypotaxis. let's wander off & remind each other, maybe go to bed.