So now we ask of the silver light those moves made to our waking, though among them are that of silken form, like a taste or touched undertaking. This questioning struggles to tip the scales, who knows and who can stomach; much mentioned is the wonder, though wander more like it does our mind, for this indeed is the stuff we were craving. On the Giving up, most do not, the beginning never accomplished, so that when asked if they knew about knowing they say no instead and pretend to be growing.
Begin By Giving Up:
It was a Saturday, or maybe a Tuesday, could very well have been yesterday for all I know when the sky above looked plain, and by plain I mean plain as it flew over head, my vision only slightly blurry. That day I remember at least as well as which day it was so relating to you all that happened might as well be like relating to the universe just prior to errupting. You were there, so you saw it too. No, I remember now, it was night and the dream covered mist sprayed dirt from below as I struggled to piss. I found out then that the festering from below my shoes was not rats, or roaches, but what may have been food.
-Come now reader, enjoy the tricks, these words that to you may seem sketchy, read them and want them and take them all in, then question the writter who’s forgot where he’s been.-
So the tale, over simplified, that is the mark, you take for five and the rest we can spark. Yet, there is still the moon, new as it was that evening I first wrote this down. But the form that it was wasn’t nearly as bright, nearly as elegant, nearly tonight. I can now only say that to you is the ruff, to you is the memory mentioned and stuffed; full for the empty bin now lays to bed, what wasn’t or hasn’t yet almost was said.
Categories: Matthew Newton