PRELUDE | PREFACE
- We have come here to [for]get. The nets cannot hold.
- The postmodern city asks to become a heap/sequence of philosophical guesses, a checklist for the sublime.
- Sophisticated equipment set up on the side of the road tracks the open[ing], but wind and rain sabotage experiment. And people are unreliable—though they smile and open.
- Is your House [of being] an essay or multiple-choice test? True/false? It can’t be that simple, can it? But one wants any[way].
- The world weeps entropy, begs to enter the screen as cyber-dream; splice a film of delphinium and [t]rain, backdrop of betrayal—the dark envelope’s center of seeds.
- I lost myself in the poem, its brushstrokes of unsettling music—later resurfacing in the tapestry-symphony quilt. Follow my diaphanous thread.
- There was so much to make you experience on your own—though I knew, at times, you might miss the quotidian persona.
- The music doesn’t stop after the score is played [unless the pages are burned [unless the pages are burned into memory]]. It stays and stays stitched into a perpetual spiritual undoing—before the cathartic Coda of Rain.
- You will leave knowing more [what might mean] in and over time; the stones and [k]nots you carry tomorrow.
- The island of bet[rayal] and wingspan was different each time. The sea, an odd creature—with death in her mouth.
- The organ at the controls steers the ship of the singular, clings to the certainty of barnacle and seaweed. There is just so much.
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