remembering, iterative (an interlude)

in the wake of all / the time we haven't now, our holydays straightened.

what happens when you let it run along? something nauseous, vertiginious. expletive.

a first run: lift-off:

000001a: a boy will do anything, or almost skeeter, to straw to a theatre.

000001b: A boy will do anything, or almost, to straw a theatre. He will bow& scrape. The audience looks alive, attentively, with yawns: it's been quite a vacation. Thank you.

000001c: Enter hero. (Tragic/tragique?) Lay down the thing, prepare: he will run if you let him. If you will like he will hobble this his own hobbyhorse for you. The thing is rigged. There are shapes in the rafters--amid tangle & pull of mechanism, some organic compound breathing. Pit&box, balcony grandstanding you return, bee-like. The sagacity of a crowd: knows what it wants, dark alleys and borderlands. In the wire an arm, a foot caught. The boot lies on the ground--some hand untied the laces. The riot police are coming, the special effect foil of their thunder creaking semiotically. You hold your breath, and keep holding.

000001d: Entrez, mon tragique. Hobblehorse. Allies sallies salvos & borderlands dismembering. Unremembering. Your teeth obliterate & filthy. The hand is over there, the left-hand fingerless gloved. Magnesium. Falconry in the balconry. Bats in the belfry. Hand’s in the jar again. Unfoil my plot--factor in the necessaries to make this recipe come off it's not returnable & the stones too heavy in the first place. You retenderize me at once, fit to reenter the market. My prospectors don't look so good; they're malnourished. Refractor me.

--well. what then? from here, what vantage? we are coming up on some cold days, & i find myself out all, knees purple in the frost, waiting--

dragging the self in circles. hover near an epicentre, its potential rising, & remember. one doesn't lose that way.