You jog to the kiosk and reopen the book
to the chapter that keeps rewriting itself . . .
You share your identity with thieves
especially when separating out
the transformationals bundled with the software
partying in a two-family on borrowed time
after which you realize
one has to have been there . . .
The time of the year, that is
stretching out as it does,
improvisationally,
letting the images populate, walk and talk,
guided by a simple motif . . .
nothing too strenuous
nothing too contrapuntal . . .
something to carry you into a wooded glen
where you can chill,
surrounded by fascinating incidentals . . .
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| Antonio Palmerini |