later that day…

shorts promise to long

so we played around at
conversation. it wasn’t without
subtext, the kind of
shit seen coming out
of a projector, if
it happens to be any good.

we tripped over implications;
such drastic solutions without
mention of Heisenberg
or Zeno. if i could borrow
your eyes, the red pylon hanging
from the tip of America’s limp dick
(we drove all night to get there)
would look different or
same, similitude, dimensional;
whatever you want.
another edition of infinite
regression. she wants meaning,
while i want breakfast.

continuing to speak, ignoring
all my flailing; i can’t help it.
after a day leaking brains under
the sun, i’d been baked,
just not long enough to justify
such inebriated logic.

halfway through the end of
dime-store discussion, music
was all but playing. gaps in
this story need to be filled in;
she asked questions
while i stuttered, making book
on teleological grounds.

confusion remains to be dealt with;
it’ll give us something to
talk about next time.

Dedicated to single conversations, both spoken & unspoken. When it seems too mysterious, that doesn’t mean it isn’t. Comes as close as could be to mountainous obstacles that look so small at great distance only to get bigger on approach. Fuckin-A, ain’t that always how it goes?

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