The Piecemeal Man (abmann) wrote,
The Piecemeal Man

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A crowd, any crowd for that matter -
the matter that I will interpret -
glows under the radiance of a darkening pallor.

If the sky blinks, I am the only one that can speak of it. Standing stones shake, the tremors of the spoken word are too much for it to walk away. Vocalic expression from the easiest bodies is all the more onerous to resist.

"J. can go because he says it is so." There is no argument, silence is filibuster of the afternoon - an unexpected Valhalla

I take the meat in one big hand and shower the week in blood.
Blood takes the tide and gravitates it toward the moon:
it is faster than you can see,
but I can absorb it through my painting words
and wear a whitening collar untarnished
by the blinking sky.

I want questions on these entries. I want to explain in notes, a dialog of footnotes. But my footnotes are interactive, dull if one sided. Answers are best when shared and not presented. The reason for this lens and you, the filter, we become apparent in time.
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