x
we accidentally imagine
by andrew yoon
this is a book of mutable poetry. it exists along a
field of probability with an effectively endless number
of possible realizations. every time this page is opened,
a program generates an entirely new version of the book.
some elements change more often than others. the random
seed for the version you are looking at is 504239.
because there is a seed number stored in this window's url,
refreshing this page or opening a link to this url
will render the exact same contents you see now.
if you would like to share or keep a link to this version of the book,
you can use this .
if you want to visit or share a random new version of the book,
use this one .
to link to an exact version of a particular poem,
hover over the poem's title area and click the link
which appears that says "fixed link". you will also
see one that says "mutable link" - this points to where
that particular mutable poem lands in a random new book.
try following the mutable links of a particular poem through
different versions and see how it transforms.
you can print or (if your computer has the ability) download a
print-ready pdf of this version of the book using your browser's
printing functionality. some elements of the display will change
to make it more suitable for printing. (you may want to modify your
printing settings to disable the automatic header/footer generation
most browsers do.) please note that as i make
improvements to the mechanics of the program, the content you see
here will likely change, even with a fixed seed - if you want a
truly fixed version, please use the printing method.
the code for this entire project is under the gpl3 license and is
completely free to read, use, and redistribute. the most up-to-date
code is available on github
here .
andrew is a composer, programmer, poet, and bad pianist. you can
find some of his other projects online at his personal website
here .
...
we accidentally imagine
by andrew yoon
seed 504239
it is 2024. we wonder what to say next,
and the wind is still blowing.
. ask ourselves some
question we hear, muffled
because our heads are
underwater, this cold heads are,
this heavy, cottonfibers
skin dragging behind our
cold bag thick sweater a
thick sweater, crinkling
plastic bag full of. we bag of
snacks. soon as we count one as
in front of that, seven or
rusting over even can't where
the could have come from
fading in when it there so, so so
many to go they are the path
taking path that how beautiful
that that or we think that way
we the, but know in the know
end going to that way too and
to the end way that's fine
option it's just as an as
surprising beautiful and
surprising thing we hear, some we
can't hear we can't hear,
muffled because are underwater
muffled this pressing on while
we pressing on socks
becoming, becoming heavy,
cottonfibers grabbing skin and
behind cottonfibers grabbing
and painted walls thick
sweater, and moment and soon we
count for another one or zero
or eighty zero eighty
power outlets rusting over
even though power the water
could can't people walk there
are to that way even the
easiest or most the path it is the
the path because, and we but
how is not to one than for is
wrong for particular to the
couch, that's just an option
as we it's beautiful it's
surprising enough and beautiful
hear we our becoming heavy,
cottonfibers grabbing skin becoming
toes. maroon painted walls
and a, walls and thick,
crinkling plastic as soon front
that front of that is another
in one number there for
power outlets rusting even
though over even we can't see
water could have come from
walk it ways isn't even the
they are taking the path is
the path they take and can't
but laughalittle how
beautiful that is not to say that
one is better think we are
better we do way going we, but
that fine. it's just so and
that be the and surprising
thing of all at the surprising
thing of all at are underwater
, this cold we feel our
socks becoming dragging skin
our toes. maroon walls and
becoming later is notice it is
that as we one or eighty
remember it for a and
damp once of damp, it does for
does. outside is so maybe we
remember don't and it does a maybe
we, now we don't . remember
why, but it for once, it does
. the smell from
everything maybe we remember why
now a while once ?” and, a
while it while ?” once, it does
. the smell of damp. sound
. we . we notice how sound.
is why , but don't. like.
“can it stay for a while for
smell of. a slowmoving sound.
we notice, but for “can
this for a while the smell
to trying hear inside
the closer closer trying to
sounds. of our our notice to
making grass. grass we pause
and . where again the hand
thisthat while while again while
crackling, we all these these we
breathe for and the sun
each knot in it just sort
of happen on on their own we
close eyes eyes for a moment
and and the is that windows
now and feel now. we and our
small small dents in
floorboard ourselves caused they
came the wooden walls of
paint and walls of wooden
scratch paint scratch about,
how in wires the , if if if
these things just sort of of
their sort of happen on their
our for a we and are feel like
is in our it might be
outside it foreheads , that
might the. in our hands now
floorboard and where they came from
and freckle scratch paint
and walls on a, how in the
things somehow. we close
somehow on their own close feel
like incense is somehow ,
that might be, that it be
breathe hands this we breathe
and and now. sensation the
floorboard dents the and ask caused
from from what where they
came caused came from scrape
face of someone we we care,
the did things their our
moment and feel like floating
is somehow somehow in, it
might outside to warm enough
to open the windows feel
hands and in the floorboard
and each groove scrape
along the and face of on the
face of desk wires behind in
behind the on purpose of if
these things sort eyes for
floating outside our bodies, our
that it might warm, that it
might be enough outside open
enough outside to open breathe
feel this now our hands now we
notice ask came what caused
each and scrape each groove
and scrape along the wooden
panels and along the wooden
every freckle and scratch
face of someone we care a
about, how lot about happened
did it , if someone things
close feel bodies, that the
incense the the windows now open
be warm warm enough open
now hands we and wooden
panels and of panels on , the
desk if someone did desk
happened , their eyes for
floating outside is enough. in
now small dents in where
came from what each each
scrape every freckle someone
we each in did it on just of
of happen on their own we,
outside our warm. hands and and
and ask ourselves from
scrape what what and and paint
every a lot of a lot in did it on
purpose of
a different in if. but
there isn't the sky keep
arriving and keep just another
ceiling there seeming like just
another another arriving and
none them, possibilities
some options impossible to
the we saw first and that the
we we seems as good as any at
go we go looking looking
for our instincts we left
for different responses,
and and ways, different
ways smiling. and we don't?
these across group the joke
was it because at once, a
different life single car this in
every note time . there
ceiling. another ceiling
emails just keep the sky
seeming like just and and like
just another ceiling and
keep be keep arriving and
seeming like just another
ceiling there. more just just
arriving and be from real into
stories, possibilities
fanning out into entire stories
, possibilities fanning
out into entire out
possibilities out options options
after options impossible to.
just end up just going we saw
saw first as as any for now at
least we remember different
circumstances calling for responses
for different responses,
different ways all these
different dealing are. and we
smiled of us these a they when
didn't when was of they was
funny it because there going
many in this jam, different
the traffic jam,
up shapes sort of behind
buttons buttons and to
direction, but but not going the
the way we. not always seem
going the way we, goals
sneaking but. goals ideas all
spray spray ideas smile. and
trangles up the the geometries
geometries and relationships
which always seem the
intended, but sneaking sneaking
into the the point ideas and
colors and ideas permeating
these paints all these smile.
it squares of making
themselves up sort of making each
other which always seem to
fall way, be goals again. and
these these watch with ideas
permeating a smile just of of making
themselves other dominoes which
always seem to wrong direction
. not the or that the.
ideas permeating while a
smile. it . trangles into into
behind buttons wrong or. and
and concrete watch with it
all just happens outlines
it all just trangles
trangles into making themselves
up behind each and other
other which pushing buttons
and seem to fall. not going
maybe maybe that point. goals
sneaking into into the paints and
ideas watch with a a smile. it
all just happens outlines
of squares and trangles
into other things making
themselves up pushing buttons and
to fall in the wrong
direction. we expected or going
the wrong we expected could
be be the sneaking
sneaking into the thoughts again
. into the thoughts again
be goals again.. spray
paints and concrete concrete
and watch with a just just a
smile we we we watch outlines
of squares and making the
always buttons and to fall in
the wrong direction. not
going going the way we
expected or intended that could.
., all these permeating
with with happens and and
happens outlines of, making
themselves the sort of each things
of each and geometries and
making themselves shapes sort
the pushing which wrong
direction. fall in we expected or
intended,, but maybe point point
point. goals. spray. ideas
and and interactions.
spray,, all we smile.
outlines of just happens things,
shapes sort
the birds their rubbing
back , eyes flickerings or .
how's this different
something or anothersong casting
somehow while the light
reflects onto the walls and the
surface important so much some
printed out from, whatever bowl
, not going anywhere in
particular seeming wonder, their
looking, or fluorescent
flickerings for water ? like it or
something or thismomentingly of
expected somehow light reflects
in its own surface , before
piled over each, with colors
blindly drawn and and that means
, not going to wonder
where birds or rubbing
cardboard right back, eyes
glimmering the lithium looking for
water. different? were
something or old box than onto the
the nearby each other so
some paintings old ,
whatever . bowl not in particular
seeming wonder their strange
cardboard. the dark with
flickerings how's it of, casting its
own color the walls and the
nearby desk some paintings and
some old jet printer meaning
, anywhere in particular
seeming get their melodies
cardboard . the sunlight or
fluorescent flickerings or
uncharged looking for between
colorshades and were important or
something or something old box of
cereal its own color onto the
the piled over colors out
from an old black meaning
glass seeming melodies,
their dark bottle looking
right with the sunlight or
water. between colorshades
or something or or cereal
somehow while and the nearby
desk piled over each other
agains the wayingsong a
we or to while behind the
eyelids, and underthere, a
beforemaroon, the eyes again with
questions and ideas how to see
under a color when we are stuck
inside it these things all
moving so slowly but the clock
seems to be working as usual
with those clunks and little
fingers and woodenbits we
suggest a counterpoint. and the
conversation stays the same and
nobody really seems to care
about the wind.
we never seem to notice
the changes until they've
already happened. or at least
they are well into
happening. we wonder why that is:
the clouds evaporating and
the sun coming out, the air
getting so slightly warmer; a
single row of bricks painted a
different color. who the behinds
through before how's and where
when whenever the
againagain the words repeatingly
as we notice a little
cottonfluff drifting toward us. it
sticks to our ink, and we ask
again where meaning comes
from. a million coins being
thrown every instant, fields
of possibility so
terrifyingly wide staring us in the
eye so intensely we have to
look away and we notice this
little bug just flying around,
landing, and flying around
again. flying, landing, and
flying around again.
can't think can't think
of to begin with at the
moment or how we read bad laugh
we laugh next, if if
nothing if really changes and
ourselves an in return we and we to
answer. we don't know. and then
to, laugh, laugh see we see
why these questions every
minute or second place comes to
, much more a to begin with
at or moment or how we. we
laugh, and we we laugh. wonder
we wonder what actually if
anything actually changed these
years over these or really
changes ask and we are to are know
. and and begin to, and
laugh laugh see can't we see
why when like every minute
every minute second or is so,
so much like why we can't
think of a able are bad moment
or able to read to, laugh we
read we laugh, and laugh we we
wonder. we. over these years or
if nothing nothing “who ?”
and are to cry. and begin to
laugh to cry. and laugh laugh
first the it
it's hard to speak
sometimes. we are frustrated with
ourselves for our
inconsistencies once at peace and
allowing things to be just the way
they are and want to be,
always taking action and never
taking action,
leftandrighting with the leftandright
once again wishing things
were a different way or that
the coin had landed on the
other face; we can't figure
out who we are, and we aren't
quite sure if that question
leads anywhere hard to find
the energy to say anything,
too many responses waiting
behind each option which never
seem to go anywhere
positive, anywhere that doesn't
hurt anybody or dissipate
into the grass as if nothing
had happened in the first
place and we begin to wonder if
anything actually did or does
happen or if we had somehow just
thought it all up out of some kind
of desperation and
confusion aimed at nothing in
particular, cycles going back and
forth but never quite the same
way, always surprising
somehow and adding to the
confusion and lack of any sense of
place, the feeling that we are
nowhere and the feeling that we
are getting nowhere.
across lines one by one
on to next ear just going
with it and still just going
with it . we suspect that a
little then laugh even think
like numbers things if time
sound if someone nobody is
how did we get here? the
questions which keep making their
way inside our mouths as if
we never could learn from
the last time we couldn't
answer and instead only become
more unhappy and began to
throw things at the walls with
some inexpressible anger
screaming and shouting with a red
face and bulging veins,
fists again and again against
the door not even caring
what's on the other side, too
caught up with the idea of the
door being there in the first
place another why and another
if causing the lights to
flicker and the stove to begin to
smell like something is
burning so we all try to remember
what we had done in the
kitchen last but we can't
remember, and even the attempts to
remember make us shout with fewer
words, make us scream with our
fingers and pound harder and
harder on the door while the
wood is splintering here and
there and the doorframe
appears to budge this time or
that time or this time again
and again and again
quietingly, the
softmurmurs not trying to say
anything in particular or
convince anyone of anything,
prefering to let things just exist
the way they are and stay the
same when they need to stay
the same and change when
they need to change, or not
even need to stay the same or
need to change but maybe
instead want to stay the same or
want to change, or rather: it
just happens. it just
happens, and it keeps just
happening. the softmurmers not
even speaking about what's
going on or what's not going on
but instead just
mentioning about whatever is on
their mind at that moment,
letting it out and letting it go,
the sound waves not
disappearing but echoing off a
thousand surfaces and every
blade of grass, split and
muffled and distorted and
echoed until they sound like
dead trees, the sun pushing
the waves around a little
through the screen door, gnats
in the air just sort of
moving around.
we wonder what would
make us happy, what would
make this headache go away
which keeps distracting us
from everything going on the
scratching pens and observations,
a quote out of context we
leave the incense burning
when we go to sleep even
though we know it's a fire
hazard and it puts our lives in
danger and the lives of all the
other people living above and
below us, and all of the people
we know and the people who
care about what happens to us
even though we never asked
them to. we wonder why it
should matter that something
happens to anyone, we wonder why
we care. and everything is
so quiet.
we accidentally
imagine ourselves as having for
a head this strangely
shaped box or a bird feeder with
a triangular roof or
something similar and we are
sitting in the front passenger
seat of an old car and someone
we care a lot about asks,
who are you? and we
think for a minute, and then
another. we aren't able to answer
with anything except a held
hand, and we somehow find
ourselves caring more about them
just because they asked.
they can't answer either,
and the grip gets tighter
and they aren't making eye
contact but that's okay because
we aren't looking anyway
and we are both these
strange wooden boxes attached
to bodies, heads without
eyes which still say so much,
eyes without laughinglines
which always find new things
to smile about an itch
behind our ears, the way this
piece of paper falls on the
ground, the sound of an overhead
lamp switching on laughing
about nothing in particular
and everything in
particular, wanting to want
everything and wanting to want
nothing, to feel everything and
to feel nothing, or at
least something the grip
getting tighter and we remember
how okay it is, how
beautiful it is and how funny it is
that poetry and music might
be the same thing after
all, that hiding is okay
sometimes and being naked is okay
too, that sometimes things
lead to other things, and
sometimes they don't, and
sometimes things just happen and
they keep just happening and
they don't stop. they don't
stop and it seems like they
never will, so it starts
making sense to just accept
this and close our eyes and
smile a little but somehow
this feels impossible. we
get frustrated and start to
do things we don't want to
do, blaming other people
for things nobody had
control over in the first place
and jumping to conclusions
and making assumptions
about other people and their
intentions and what they want or
what they are afraid of. we
forget that they are us, that
their grip is getting tighter
and that nothing is okay for
them either. we remember
that their boxy head is
crying and we have been trying
not to notice. we remember
that we are all the same
person born into different
bodies, and that this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing. this is a
beautiful thing.
and just like that, the
page turns for us. the next
series of random numbers fill
the screen and we begin to
imagine dots and we begin to
connect them and agree and
disagree with them, relate to
them and question them and
share them. the page glares.
we glare. everybody is
glaring and nobody is laughing
and then one of us starts
laughing, and another one of us
starts laughing, and we are all
laughing and the paper is
laughing and the inkdots are
laughing: the numbers are
laughing too.
because the longer we
stare at the details, the less
we are sure they even
matter.
silence and quiet now. a
small voice humming and
laughing in the other room. a
crystal or some melting snow.
behinds toward while again
around where's or why's while
leftandright shrinking silently. a
wooden creak. a scratch. all
centers things happening all
around, things just happening
and just being the way they
are. and we realize that this
is a beautiful thing. that
this is a beautiful thing.
we keep asking
questions like “will this make me
happy?” when instead it might be
more interesting to ask what
it would sound like if the
leaves on every tree were poems
written on little sheets of
paper and everybody in the
world began to read them out
loud all at the same time and
then the wind began to blow
and the poems went flying in
the air all around and
everybody just watched it happen
in complete silence we
can't help but smile a little,
and then a lot. and someone
hugs the stranger to their
left and we all begin to
laugh. we ask ourselves
another question we can't hear
because of all the wind and
poems, and that's just fine we
realize we didn't want to know
the answers anyway when
there are so many confusing
and beautiful things all
around us anyway. we just keep
laughing and grabbing poems out
of the air, sometimes
deciding to read them and
othertimes using them as napkins.
the wind, the wind is
laughing too.
smiles keeps ticking
and we keep notice. circles
while we can't around the
piece of we can a moment we
don't if things or don't care
we okay because have us,
more our our keeps going keep
smiling and we are around and
object the staring turning
floorboards some and why wood is so
resonant, and cars turn their in
the of a bricks one another
the opinions and facts
falling, the fists and hugs keep
doing our circles on
themselves while voices from the
other room and we can't help
but the moment how the of
paper and room can somehow it
anything know if not but somehow
perfectly okay caring, more the
arm the music, and in an
instant to for what what every
person and how the air. these
eyes, floorboards kind of
kinetic energy of dust, how
squirrels climb trees quickly
turn their wheels we wonder
if in the all be part of a
joke without a without a
clinging and facts falling into
the same smiles keeps
ticking and we keep our best
around on voices notice the
temperature this piece and we can
somehow and think
happens from other
without even trying trying. and
and sometimes things are
not okay and sometimes they
are are okay and sometimes
things are sometimes and
happens that we go that, and
sometimes it one trying. and
sometimes things okay okay
sometimes happens and things are
sometimes things are not okay are
not okay they are it happens
go from without even
trying. and sometimes things
are , and and sometimes they
, and from one. and that we
go sometimes it the we go
from without not okay , and
from one other without even.
not. and sometimes are okay
and sometimes it happens
that go. and okay are not okay
okay, from one to the are not
okay and sometimes it from
one to the other without
even things are sometimes
things are sometimes they are,
and sometimes the
sometimes things are they are, go
the things things okay, it
that that we we even trying..
and sometimes not they they
it., sometimes they it
happens are the without even
trying, and sometimes it
happens that and and sometimes
that, it happens that we go
from one trying not okay and
and sometimes it happens we
go the other to the and are
not okay are trying . and
things things are not okay , and
sometimes it go from to even they
they it happens . and and
sometimes it happens that the
other and and sometimes it go
trying okay , happens that we go
from one to the one.
sometimes things are not okay , and
sometimes they are happens that
from and sometimes they go go
from one the are are okay,
other to the one one to without
even trying and sometimes
okay sometimes they are it we
go from one to the other
sometimes are trying . and other
without even okay, and
sometimes they it to the other
without trying. and sometimes
things are not, happens that we
other sometimes things are
not okay, and okay,, and go
one to sometimes sometimes
things sometimes, and even not
, and sometimes they not
okay are the we to trying not
sometimes they are, and sometimes
it other and they the we
happens we the other sometimes
they they are, other not not
okay
heated on faster and the
conversation our best we best we more a
every repetition getting a
with fewer mistakes . going.
with faster and with fewer , a
little getting a little more .
every repetition pretend
outside do our best to pretend we
aren't getting a we. little
more accurate, a little
faster fewer mistakes. the
conversation heated while becoming
heated while we do we aren't
accurate, the faster and little
getting a little more accurate,
a little, repetition
getting pretend listening. we
becoming heated the little
faster a fewer faster and with
faster repetition little more
accurate. every listening.
getting every repetition
listening pretend we. we aren't
listening our we do our best
listening, faster repetition
getting a little little faster
little more accurate, a
repetition listening. every
repetition faster and little more a
accurate a a accurate, a fewer the
conversation going on outside
becoming mistakes. outside
while conversation. the
conversation going best listening.
getting every repetition
getting a every repetition
getting. little listening, a
little faster and with
becoming heated outside pretend
we to pretend our while the
on we. a little faster and
with fewer accurate, faster
little, a little faster. a
fewer mistakes
the corner of the room
empty except for the little
grooves in the floorboard, we
smile. the moments going and
going in such a beautiful way
that we can't take our eyes
off it, noticing just how
inconsistent things are, how blurry
and arbitrary the
differences seem between things and
people and ideas, how musical a
painting can sound the ink never
seems to dry.
we wait for a few minutes
and wonder if it would be
okay for us to ask now: "is
this beautiful?" we wonder
if nobody noticed and we
watch the air just sort of move
around through the leaves. we
take another breath with the
sunlight and feel warmer.
throughs and arounds
behindingly the now nowing while
again the time continues and
stops and continues again.
circles of ink we close our eyes.
systems all around us
and our lives fracturing
breaking apart piece by piece as
we keep trying to glue
things back together with
words and theories and poems
and cathedrals
architectures in the mind and and later
in concrete, we begin to
feel jittery as we realize we
haven't stood up in hours, this
chair and its arms a little too
narrow, pressing against the
sides of our skulls, plurals
and singulars not having so
much significance to us now
when the lights are
flickering so subtly. we pray but
don't know who we are praying
to who we are praying for,
what we want, what we should
want. fading. fading.
, on or off, untied tied
or, on or, on up in a
trashbag a trashbag somewhere
near spoiled food somewhere
near trashbag somewhere
near spoiled food remember
that having no control
thoughts, , control no control
over, our actions beautiful
if okay if we if we watch a
ground in its speck in its in the
a with a goal and with a
goal and just in the hours
this thing we defined
society, when or why they are
don't saying it the wind every
breath it thinks it shaped the
way write many ways to there
is a new, a desks garbage on
desks. different tones of
voice, probabilistic make up
for their emptiness for
make up for prefer to think
the a smallvoiced reminder
that a smallvoiced, a
reminder that we are pale grain of
sand grain of sand of place a
where every book is in a
different language and we we
thought we had the we haven't
seen we laughed until the sun
came playing cell phone cell
phone cell phone left music,
or playing music phone
left that
we are breathing. and we
are still breathing. one
thought and another passing by
in the street while we ask
ourselves if this is going
anywhere if we should instead be
focusing on something else like
the way the smoke is
drifting away from the incense
stick, or the sound our eyelids
make when we blink. is there a
place for rushing anymore?
the softmurmurs again,
reminding us about our breath: and
a little blue bird lands
on the windowsill. it is
singing.
tangling wires into
these bizarre shapes, rugs
with strange colors and
melodies waitingly, taking deep
breaths before the speech where
we finally speak our
minds: "won't everybody
please, please stop this
cruelty? can't we see how
unnecessary it is?" some glass
window creaking under winds,
some oil spilled in a parking
lot. how again the why's and
who's before and after or some
some behind throughingly, a
manual for writers of research
papers about electrical
engineering and game theory,
complex analysis and early
marxist painting; the
walls of this place have
shoulders that are
sagging, somewhere in these
pages an actual answer to a
question that matters. a new pair
of jeans, a holiday
decoration left up for months, a
lightbulb which doesn't fit even
though we could have sworn the
size was right at the store.
color combinations making us
feel sick and wonder why we
care about the dissonance,
why we should prefer one to
the other. we conclude that
we're all just bits of air
moving with the waves of some
song we can't hear: now
banging on the wooddrums, the
thoughts and the doubts, hopes or
imaginations throwing fists at the
organ keyboard, some body of
loud waters, some
electrical structure groaning in
rains particles trapped in
the breezings, the sine
waves, the eyeballs thrown
left and right or up and down
or is that a sign of
happiness, of
peacefulness? who's to tell what's
harmony and what's dissonance?
who's to tell the words of the
song when each moment's just
a few bits of data? hard to
see the picture from a
pixel, hard to find the poem
through a word a letter an inkdot
the arounds and behinds
lost somewhere in the mix,
the breath being exhaled
before we even noticed it was
inside our bodies, each note
rising just a little higher or
just a little more like dirty
wallpaper: we ask each other where
it happened. where the
music got faster. where the
blue became green, where the
light was switched on and the
newer waves began to
interfere with things and distort
the shapes, canceling out
or multiplying or
performing more complicated
operations until the noise is noise
and the signal is noise and
the noise is still noise yet
somehow wider, more sideways
and spinningly and
uppingly and backwardly, more
harsh and out of sync, now neon
colorlines and batteries, strange
gaps in the spiral not
patterns but something about
them which makes us feel the
walls are moving further away
and the room is becoming
smaller, that one moment is
another and the second hand is
somehow different this time
around. we cannot help but go to
sleep again, this time with a
strange smile and already
looking forward to coffee. this
time with socks and a thicker
blanket. this time with the
windows open: and in comes the
cooler air.
and all at once things
are so quiet, a tiny hiss
from the walls, distant
clanging of a ventilation fan. we
breathe with the sunlight,
passing clouds causing these
little pulses in the sunglow
and somehow we feel it in our
toes even though we can't
quite tell why the wind
chooses the pitches it sings
against the window, why one
harmony should point to
another, why every story has some
sort of climax where
elements and trajectories
culminate into some bigger thing
as if we had been heading
there all along as if there
were some kind of purpose
behind the penscratches or
where this leaf decides to
fall in this rotting pile we
notice a pain in our lower back
from bad posture and some
strange sense of pressure from
the bottom of our right foot
now the ventilation fan
slowing down into a periodic
banging; we notice a coin lying on
the ground but we can't make
out which side it landed on.
do we care? is it good to
care? would it matter if we
knew? we are staring at the
coin and the coin is staring
back.
as destination as
explain toward their explain
learned the , without collapse,
and things just do just do
what they do what do what they
to figure out made it up or
could really that or felt
maybe leaves there , that
maybe the maybe the decided,
that could really be really
be there the some need when
branches from below . and now
someone we know comes, but we
don't up so us so anything. or
noticed us and that okay to just
anything that sometimes we can.
don't out thing if and now we
now that that our shadow is
in the wind shapes to and
lead with our hand but . we
were hoping the smudges we
were hoping make us of
something we wouldn't have, or ,
but
starts coming shades of
colors whose we remember that
lungs we breathe lungs we
breathe we we breathe and we
breathe to ask we! isn't it funny
how we can't shades of these
colors remember and glowing
and somehow smoke our is
still glowing incense is
still glowing and our lungs
and and and we breathe. we
forget breathe. isn't funny we
can't help but smile when the
coming remember lines and
names lines remember that the
stick of is and we we help when
the sun starts right on we
can't of these shades can't
remember lines. we remember
stick so lines and so the and
stick of incense still and
somehow becoming smoke in we
breathe