Absolutely Miles Away …too many clouds, too little time…

Underground Sounds, pt. 2

Well, anyway, maybe, somehow, somewhy, people expect too much to be seen.

Too much to be shown on the sufrace, less than bubbles away in cyclonic cauldrons underneath. To hide that sparkle in dewed eyes before sheltering behind a shadowy fringe. To escape between the layers of colour and into the depth under what we think can be home. Might be home. Could it be home? If a home comes to a shelter to hide in, steal the prize away from pries and cries, a barricade to realise…

Don’t be scared, don’t worry. it’s not normally this way. We find our own way through. We get by. We don’t ask questions, they don’t tell lies.

The words you wrote before don’t work. He tried. He could only try. He sounds and hears the claustrophobia dripping from every nail in the wall, a picturehook rip seeping like sweat and shivers through skin but a rasping voice he does not recognise will deign to decide…

just a simple life is enough. Just a word, just one, just a… Just. Just feelings without punctuation. No perfunctory stationery, nothing less than zero trying to advertise its wares. he’s suffocating under the draw of the pull of the words… His breath sings to me, catches me this morning. He exhales pronunciation and polite conversation, in one sore heave of his chest, he begins to recall…

Arrive to arrange supplies on white melamine, gently grooved at the edges and patterned with the lint and swift grey dust…lines straight, perpendicularly so, colours forming the falling from a discrete section of the rainbow. blink once to clear eyes from the days. Blink twice and i see the familiar vernacular, arranged under grand, humble, and numb. handwritten, inked. Pencil shading…

catch yourself back into whatever meaning this holds to you, but know that everyone finds their own secret messages, without reading between the lines.

It’s not the science governing the way of the world. Not as precise as brain surgery, and less wordladen than the silence which dessicates at the grate of concentration. It’s sunshine on green grass. Feeling condensed to a sole stolen teardrop. Snap-click of a tiny sliver of time.

Keep it with you forever.

*blinks once, twice*

*squints*

Oh, I see! Your sense of discovery-play-exploration never ceases to captivate me.

Ani: tis only words.

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