These bones slide out of their place, into another place I've never been where sidewalks are cold and dark and even fallen leaves slide past. It is a place no one stays for long, nothing is permanent. So that when you go back there it is a different place altogether. It is so that if you walk these sidewalks clinging to a wool coat with your eyes stinging you will have traveled through entire desert nights by the time you stop to put a match to your cigarette. Also when you are there you are alone in the mysterious city of Kôr but when you are there, there has never been a city to begin with, so there could be no bombs or lights to put out. Sea turtles even have never been here, where the moon is quick to move on along in its route to California in a current of clouds. These bones can feel the displacement. Entire generations of word-addled junkies with bibles and manuscripts who are the children of senators moving west from winter. These bones seek absolution, a row of palm trees melting in the waves of heat breathed by cracks in the boulevard, a mirage as out of place here as you, and that is why there is only one thing to do here which is to seek to be somewhere else. Somewhere in no way identical to here, so that these bones may once again come together.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
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