Apart from the cracks otherwise visible receding around the bending curve
of my eye, I could not discern them from the patterns in the deteriorating asphalt.
The multilayered rumblings of a city after dusk gradually transformed into
the more sedated slurry of hushed undertones merging into stainless steel
clinking into liquid filled glasses being stirred with chewed on plastic straws.
In this cross-section of a labyrinth collecting mirrors, no one bothered looking
at each other directly, for the fun in that was lost long ago as their reflection's host
had been abducted into virtual oblivion for as long as we have known.
I fell into the magnified pores of her face held balanced on a whole stack
of merging surface edits as upon the barely disturbed layer of a warm bath.
An atmosphere of systematic emotions have become seasonal in me except
without any discernible order of rotation or regularity, in fact it's been several
revolutions ago that I should remember occupying any springtime at all, really.
And for that I should ordinarily feel sad, I'm beginning to determine.
Mixing the contents of my drink with the indentured straw at my disposal,
I momentarily lose track of my focus as a particular strain of melody floats by.
It has a coruscating pattern of decaying notes which drift off into the distance
like so many disintegrating flakes of ash that it renders all past the horizon
into one enormous palette of gray featurelessness the likes we haven't seen
since the moonlit October evenings out on the cracked mud plaster fields
of the valley surrounding the evaporating inland sea of the western hemisphere
on this planet earth whose name has been likened with the very dirt upon it,
for some reason I'd rather not speculate upon overmuch, I think as my drink
becomes more evenly mixed and the temperature is homogenized enough
for me to want another sip through the damaged straw of inoculation.
(to be cont.)
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