X. Trappings
How soon and how so, alleviating relapse
as if to catch again the undercurrent
as it folds between message and machine.
Sequester night, a sound dance
lent somnambulism -- walking around
with failed sleep -- the slow wheel of a darker
obscure. A polymer of sounds immurred
in steeplechase. The search angel suffers
a sea change, lately so lightly.
It's three in the morning in Troy. No mood to
staple against. Would to subjunctively
transfer speculation to empirical verdure --
quite on the fringe, canopy of blur.
Mistaken as to what gives and yet taking it
as it comes to be, becoming other than
what it gives. Arose, like any other it arose.
Arise and fall. Experience of consciousness.
Cruise toward Cretan labyrinths at a speed
that will not curtail that pile of ashes,
brimful. Otiose and underdone.
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