Entropic Redirection

This entoptic perspective we are individually bound to

drives me wild,

then feral.

These entotic sounds and whispers arouse.

Your hints and secrets spur.

I wear the stripe of an island.

Heraldry.

An entropic endeavor.

My vizard is my visage.

And with a double V.

VV.

I derive double ewe.

Ewer a W, you.

And, from my mask a

wizard re-enlivens.

A ghost ship at full clip

Fighting-as-discipline haunts me with every new face I meet. (Invariably they are black belts, INK’D athletes, ex MMA fighters, etc.)

Cannily uncanny. It may be inspiring my clip this morning. I certainly find the trend personally inspiring. The same way the numbers 93, 13, 11, and 777 hook my attention. Do I see them at every turn because they occur in a disproportionate amount or do my expectations simply enliven significance?

My feet carry my brain to work, propelled as though by the will of something outside of my conscious thought.

I walk too fast. I don’t know why. Mind still foggy from tying one on with the family last night.

Damn. I can barely keep up with my own pace.: I think, walking.

Click, click.

Click, click.

Quick.

Oh well, the energy required to change my momentum seems more consuming than just continuing to walk along, too fast.

It is a grey sky morning.

Have I actually woken up?

°

The sun finally arrives and beats the cloud cover into smashed splinters. It makes the day seem real. I feel my heart finally kick start, keeping rhythm with the coffee coursing through my system.

Howllelujah.: says the newly given up ghost,

in a whisper of surrender to this new day.

Tight Lungs

I saw your raven’s claw hit the mark too squarely.

The clip of the talon’s clasp.

Snatching telephone cable as I watch three lightning storms

consume the sound.

Thunder.

I do not buy nonchalance

anymore than I am willing to eat soft words when

my eyes go hard.

Uncanny does not always equal canny.

Ariadne now knows how to lucid dream.

A hand poised, around a throat from which

“take my breath away” is whispered with

an accompanying half grin.

Physicsical Moaning

I smile: I am pleased you like the work, but not particularly interested in why.

You liked how it felt.

Instead, tell me about the last dream you had while sleeping?

Did you like how it made you feel?

I dreamt a record store called All ‘N Analog. It was no analogue.

And,

What if it turned out that Paul Revere was just a Boy who cried Wolf?

Let’s incorporate.

A stem [becomes]

steAm.
Repetition of action is

not repeating oneself;

though, care must be taken, of course, so you

don’t repeat yourself;

but, sometimes I love it when

you repeat yourself

(or ask me questions, the answers to which you believe you already know.)

Self-awareness of ignorance can nearly

overcome it.
Just don’t over-commit.

You will, still, scratch that itching nose with a finger, whether you are aware you do so,

or not.

You skate on a bead of water produced from the ice you melted as the blade of your skate skirted over it.

You have not cut the ice.

Boiling point is dependent upon the local atmospheric pressure, sweet thing.

Are you at an elevation of simple sea level?

The triple point of water.

A bathtub producing water, ice, and steAm from its faucet head.

All states

existing simultaneously; and, at the same time,

the ultraviolet exposure at my atmospheric level, fries, while I watched the sun rise

from my spectacular, secularly sacred space.

Dream of rueing.

Your name is Ruin?: I ask.

No. RueAnne: she replies.

Why did you bring me back here?: I wonder.

I didn’t mean to: I hear her say.

She does not realize that she said this.

I nod anyway.

Certain geographies don’t agree with dream me.

This place rubs me wrong.

Edgy.

RueAnne is staring into nothing.

Her energy has been summoned.

She just lost herself again: I think.

A goat ambles by.