Worrying the linearity of it all . . .
Yet why embellish, twist the truth? . . .
Alright, so we’re all in on the trickery
of collapsing the distance between screen and self,
where nothing is truly as it seems -
as declared by those observing from the shadows . . .
the frozen breath of autumn clinging to the world . . .
But this puddle of prose still makes its way, yes? . . .
You see it, I see it, we all see it . . .
The fox moves easily through the frost
its coat, sleek and well-suited for winter’s bite . . .
Yet your voice, though layered, is fragile
tending to crack . . . much like Proust
dreaming of madeleine crumbs on the edge of memory . . .
Perhaps a subtlety hidden deep within
the algorithms of the next app update
or perhaps it’s the recurring rhythm of something else -
a subway car grinding through the quiet tunnels
hauling your restless thoughts from stop to stop . . .
Naturally, it’s all about perspective -
the point of view shifting like Joyce’s stream of consciousness
where words drift, ready to withdraw their invitation . . .
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| Will |
