Linger Or Recur #3: The akin weep, aping utilities, ample, vied for

(Being the third installment of a collaborative “pantoum in prose” composed by the editors [Janice Lee, Eric Lindley & Joe Milazzo] in anticipation of [out of nothing] #7, “time ⊕ (nothing ⇒ but)”; forthcoming, Fall / Winter 2013.)

Was it a simple search for the most secure place in the room, a secure place at this unhappy hour? The sun beats the high F# of mosquito wings, the grey screen a C, your fingers like small dry bones in a metal dish, so you think of Stravinsky, and you think of Stravinsky, and you think of the salt in blood. A stranger’s eye, attached to a string — he had been warned. Because your dreams matter so little and feel so much, they give credence to these otherwise forgotten days. By now he has realized that this freedom was not quite enough, that his hands, suddenly insufficient, suddenly entirely mysterious, could sense where it might actually reside. Suspense continues its simple contest, its suspicions a gamut both warm and frail. He shows that history and truth have nothing to do with each other, but we know this already. The sketch artist listens and sketches an unhappy hour. Time: artificially articulated, the multitudinous accompaniments and preciseness that stem from a lack of meaning. Document of giddy power—he got mean before he really was allowed. Go as far back in time as you can possibly go, but don’t break a sweat. You wait for feedback: you step back grinning; you vomit up a hot fist of pride. A stranger’s eye, attached to a string — he had been warned. Document of giddy power—he got mean before he really was allowed. He shows that history and truth have nothing to do with each other, but we know this already. You wait for feedback: you step back grinning; you vomit up a hot fist of pride.