the landscape sits around me like a mural, colours only a layer deep, easily removed with a little scrubbing, appear unmovable, carved in cement. but i race, vibrating so quickly, i can barely see. i move past this world and into others. i can’t understand, can’t commit. because how can i hold onto something that flies past me? how can i love from a train? how can i let you in when you are just streaks of colour and light? when your voice sounds like wind? this immutable world, which analyzes backwards, imagines forward, which sees lines, paths, stairways. how pretentiously you sit on your crazy glue throne; how heavy you are upon it, sinking into the earth with your unbearable presence, your toxic form and function. my silhouette has been carved up into tiny offerings to beauty and precious moments and handed out like so many corners of a birthday cake. my function refuses to attach itself to grains of absurd transient purpose.
