Post-Echo Blackout Drift


You have a sound that follows. Assume

what happens after a couple of bars,

a couple of napkins, a comic book soundtrack

we make with the spinal-cord crash.


Take two: Years and in between started

to entertain new ways to fight against time,

where we are bogged down, oversaturated

from Internet phenomenology, quantum

sound, a lecture featuring the subconscious

of Val Kilmer.


                                                            We wanted the drift.


                                                            Everything is happening at once.

There is no time whatsoever to grasp. I’ve

thought—the stories, characters, variations, char-

acter—who I am today I will be tomorrow, who

I was yesterday—variations, selfsame, abandoned.


We had been

talking about a movie, kicking roots,

the low hum building at night

a little less fun than a jigsaw of

ourselves lodestar small among others.

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