MEASURING WINTER /a

[1] goes [2] snow’s opalescent pillows for an explanation of science and a forgetting thereof.  To lie down in the cold. Angel, no. The wing bones ribbing the sky. Early twilight when you first saw snow.  Then. When hands stuck to the handlebars, the swing set, the tongue on the frozen tree shorn. Then stuck in throat. A mouthful of bird.  A blueprint for winter. To get to the door of something. A new chapter, crossroads, turning now

The scrim of the inner room fading, screening calls, ill preparing a map of feeling. The promised test results will show. An explanation for the cold inside perpetual delay. The continual disarray. The old men looming at the lost river banks. The sea displaced, then found. Ice Garden. Breaking its throes  to be mythology. Night gardening in glittering snow. Those stories that evolve and gather. The book collecting dust on the hard drive. The book of will, coda forgetting, unknown.   

Equipment set by the side of the road tracks the opening, impact of the abstract [a-b-c]. A lopsided triangle draped around three points, a fabricated beginning, middle, and end. Sisyphus wanted those bookends to make it all bearable or seem to have a context. The shortest distance between two points can be violent, not wanting to grow questionable wings, those wounds in the armpits, wary at the lookout tower, ready to bow and disregard description, forget about the sublime.

Pressed against the window, presage, obsession shed after dark. Exercises in math and deeds untold.  The best examples unrecognizable, dredged up through so much bad weather and cleaned perfunctorily. Do without hollow holidays, something on channel 12 promising beauty’s free lunch.  A glamour beyond words. How I forget you in summer. The frozen birds. The eyes twitching in the landscape The Hills Swallow.  How [1] story leads into another more complicated and back to the first story invented to explain purpose. The leap of faith over the voID.  Asphyxiated Pre-Raphaelite Girls, a band on the billboard, play a dirge calledWinter, cellos tuned to the Arctic sea.   

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