the shift of your day we find the feet of a bare soul. Watch it swim through
black wonder. Watch it pull a thread from the white fabric of time. This is
done without hands. As it is willed, soul turns too body for divine compromise.
The soul finds a home within a boy. He can be found in his home. Windows allow
a sun to have its living room. Light is given through choice. What isn’t
illuminated? The task of life. An empty vase on a table. And a girl who,
without notice, comes into view. Who is she?
Freud on hysterical phenomena in relation to memory: “The fading of a memory or
the losing of its affect depends on various factors. The most important of
these is whether there has been an energetic reaction to the event that
provokes an affect.” Perhaps he would have us all hysterics. Of us that are
cynics, bear to heart, the man balanced the banal plane of altruism. Or, this is
to say, nothing.
is Michelle. She is in view. Of her hair, blonde. Of her face, freckled. An
oversized shirt and a simple skirt with pockets cover her body. That is enough.
She maneuvers through what has been given. Watch it ripple. She is looking for
something. This is reflected in her tip-toeing. A slanted youth. As if she, the
thing, is possessed of herself. Is her compromise, in and of itself, not worthy
of divinity? She hears the barefoot boy. A nose is lifted. And a mouth waters
is suggested to reflect from the length of an arm. No one involved in this text
is to be lionized. Humanize lions.
has cornered our boy in his bedroom. Her nose is lowered. Mouth drenched. After
him, she engages base appetites. It starts with a hand upon flesh. A piercing
silence is where it ends. This repeats with time. What hasn’t been said? The
burden of memories to come. Trauma. A resting place of the flowers. And a woman
who, without notice, comes into the bedroom. Who is she?
– “An injury that has been repaid, even if only in word, is recollected quite
differently from one that has to be accepted.” Economic, is it not? To allot
compensatory measures to the word. I would pluck from all, repair. Not repaid.
This will be left here.
is the boy’s mother. Of her hair, red. Of her face, symmetry. A simple pantsuit
covers her body. She inserts herself between Michelle and the offspring. Her queries
are of fury. Watch Michelle flinch. Watch the boy’s solemn wince. Aside from
the wrinkles of closed eyes, nothing is revealed. Mother clothes her son and
takes him by the hand. He is to pull more fabric. See Michelle fade into red
Creature, staring down your nose at these words. Sit upright. Position yourself
for reception. I am the apology extended. Why? This undertaking is beyond his powers.
It is not owed to you, yet, through you it is given. Yes. Far beyond their power.
and boy find a new home. It is nice enough. Injuries are never repaid, even in
word. What will never be shared?
was for our barefoot boy. Unravel your mind’s eye. This would have us at the
delta of red memories. Here, he would move through time. Oh, He would wind
through it. Yes. Everything compromised in a moment, a scene, a memory conceived
by its own constrictions. Ephemeral trickery for the sages. As a snake coils
itself in a garden. An attempt at status
nascendi. They would have us hysterics. You know this. Or, beneath the
water of all days you couldn’t
sparse kitchen table. Through his eyes, it would be unassuming. Eyes awash with
sights of days’ past. Mother was in the pantry. After withdrawing from laborious
labor she made a meal to share. Sharp was our child’s confusion. He looked down
at his empty plate. A matte smooth surface.
happened to me mom?” She fed him. He slept. A whisper. Everything is going to
be fine. I love you. What is the soul to eat? Sharp was its confusion. It
looked down at memory. Flat and lean.
are given with trauma. How daring is it to capture a passed one? It is not of
you that this question is asked, yet, through you it is mentioned. You live
barefoot child moved onward. What was left? A switch in home and room. Pluck at
the callouses over your hands. Gnaw at your nails. Life, as it were, foreword
as behind, may have been lost to darkness.
came of age. This was wrought in the city. Here, transgressions in kind moved
behind mountains. Imagine this. In a classroom. Michelle is there. She will
howl with the posture of a phantom. Her finger will press against our boy’s forehead.
Or is he older?
teacher commanded the boy’s attention. Anywhere outside free birds could be
found. We have lost our track. A barefoot child, ah, but before it was memory.
Chanting recants of confusion. He will encounter Michelle’s deeds found in a
different body. It was to be wrought in the city. Body upon body. The soul’s
never touch. They would have us hysterics.
the shift of your day we find our barefoot child, lost. Mother was there. As
was the house built of blood and brick. What was this house possessed of?
Imagine. I have lead you this far. Men were moving about in suits. Of them was
the estranged stranger. Who was he?
people of the house became aware of themselves. It is for the lack of that our
child was unware of himself. Unaware of soul in body. They would have us
is Tommy. He is in view, there, at a large dinner table. Of his head, bulbous.
Of his mind, broken. A simple black suit
covered his body. He was sat a large dinner table. As were the suits beside their
harem. Mother was there. As was our barefoot child. Two great Danes wandered
about. Gentile were these giants. Not protectors. A meal was shared between
them. As was the blood spilled and word.
is to happen when a meal finishes? Perhaps, everything. Our boy, in time, left
the table, danced in spirit, and found himself in the home once more. See his
boy walked up a swirling stairwell. The carpet was worn. He found a landing to
sit on. Innocence was his preoccupation. Exploring himself. This was done
through the oblique of intelligence. Yes. The innocence of youth. Sweet glory
is the unknowing of good and evil. The sweet indifference of childhood. Once again
this was to be stolen from your boy. Upon the landing, he attracted the attention
of a curious onlooker.
have we managed here? Not much in the way of all things. Names have been
gifted. Sweet is the proxy of apologies for the lack of powers.
the boy was upon the landing still. The onlooker turned into that that has been
given a name. Tommy. He approaches the boy, bulbous. Not of his transgressions
shall we wince, yet, through them we must. Somewhere, before returning to the
source, apologies are made for his concupiscent handicaps. Of his soul through
body, all has been lead astray. He leads our boy, astray, into a bathroom.
upon body. Souls never meet. Only concerning the spatial realm.
lights above are burning. Tommy’s desire is bright. Our boy is darkened out of
view. It began with words and ended with the exposition of flesh. More transpired,
however, it is lost with trauma of red memory passed.
boy comes too, trembling in a closet. And those trembling hands are placed upon
his knees. Tears may fall down his cheeks. This is the compensation of soul. At
once, he exits the closet to find himself in his mother’s arms. The scene below
has grown boisterous. Everyone involved lionize themselves and their deeds.
Tommy fades. He will find Michelle in the red delta of memory.
v We have mentioned the boy comes of age. And it
is wrought in the city. He will reconcile all he can. Soul will fade behind
body to see what can be endured. It will not amount to much. He will meet the
bodies of women. Their souls never touch. It is more of snake eating snake. This
has all been for what? Creatures will grovel in the garden. And their bodies
with them. I am there in body, lest my soul heals in the city.