The clouds migrate from the Gulf and that is my experience.
Sweating nihilistically in a plain shirt moving torpidly as bull bay
lineage. Stove pilot light to ignite white grape. Dad never learned
Swisher was inverse front or to gut it inhaling loophole. My nose extends
into the sun’s field which’s why it is (red) and I deny the human technology
of hats, to avoid politically charged histories. Port city economy. Asphyxiating strip mall
where Sensei sweeps his for-lease dojo, all children and warriors expelled to
eons. The sea blushes at our film and it’s a living, opening the gift shop roller
shutter in cycles to sell decorative net. 12 miles from the beach. When you get
down to it a penny is zinc that caused so much: scattered light of rhinestone
jeans graphic tees guitar tuner flexi disc. I’ve traveled the empire of Dollar General
seen identical lenticular dolphin posters like I’ve known this cetacean in zip codes
and loved magicians on curbs. Oracles with U.S. Game Systems decks foretelling
our sloth’s spread as crabgrass and the family’s found and lost fortune in a
mattress firm franchise. Corpus got over the fad of sleep. So we maneuver night
drunk on chemical plant light and in the fashion of genetic information spiral.
Miniscule and powerful like a wire. Planation is a slow job that standardizes
landscape. Evolution is the inside job from which we burst as forces, entropic
agents. We’re too far from whence we came. We all knew Dad’d gone too far
when he thought wrestling was real, but turns out he was negotiating vertical
integration with God. The fossil is not the body but the rock’s gossip of the body.
There are many flaws in language like there is no word for echo. But there is
nautilus. Mitochondria. The photo we took at
a mall, staring down destiny, welcoming it
before a white sheet.