hands pushing backs, in this moment i’m thinking this is life, what else could be life?
limber joints of two hands– dispensed almost as a consolation prize, nourished in place of
the vacancy where the memory should be. the sparkle we used to know got sucked up from
our eyes into the air-tube, nothing worthy came out of it since except that salt, except that sand
we bend and start pointing at each other. tangent to earth's pulse, i bargained for my price. all 7 
oceans, one ganymede to other. blinking, blinking, blinking; anything here winks with neither
a delay nor enhance. the oceans, they get fed up with anywho’s future and past sinking. stars 
reappear. clothes wet, take deep breaths into the clarity, in witness of the night splash-
painted, its intensity somehow tangible. tick, tock, tick, tock. once again the
chlorine sinks into your marinated body, and your body into oblivion
for a tinge of seconds, every other trip to the bluets field
is one you cannot return. the same, take deep
breaths. this one is the
nascent force
sailing
in,
dark
as in
light, heavy
as in light, the
second type of light
is the one that beams spooning in
your bust, look, it’s trying to grow hands and legs
and reach out for the plums hungry to an extent and deprived of
something more. the third light is told to unroll flattened upon the plum tree,
the tree as in you, or the tree is in you, either the dead-end in spite of the cycle, or the
preview of your pinnacle—the tree does not want to fulfill itself. the ballast is debilitated in
order that you may descend— with all the parts you’re not quite bounteous about giving out
with a grain of salt. you’re not who you present yourself to be, you’re full of its scratches but
no certainly all of it. you have it engraved in your roots but are not certainly it, but of its source
of drive desire, the conscious act of it. the ones stranded for to keep the truth to yourself in
some place untouched, one and only, one and only a place raw. we all came from here. the
climax disguised as the end will bask in the accidental beauty itself. it was the firstand
last of all, has it ever had the nerve to sprinkle itself in everything?