Mind and Time

At left, a bird with huge eyes and a crest: a Heron. The eyes might be mouths. The heron sits, immovable, for hours--then in a split second grasps a fish

This shearing happening to the soul, is language reverberating against action-- members blacken their faces and are given the details of a crime they are supposed to solve with uniformity, anonymity came true

A federated decentralized system of free associations. Maybe not federated. Why split the second. Keep it together. Maybe language is the only action. Solitary as the verb to be. To be black. In the heron's saddle. Magical cunning and penetrating contemplation exerted upon a void slate. You are my favorite. Am I your favorite. Maybe it's not so bad if everyone is a suspect but no one feels guilty or clamors or ever speaks and there is no death or three and the sea slips off our lips into a mercy

A suitable planet
The natural hallucinogen of joy
Tupperware puppets, soul runners
Vast self-assurance, will allow the ghost to deny the reality of the forms that shackle it
such as: from now on (the linear slurring
the heron
statuesque-reflexive
like justice or blood
'til her destination was everywhere

This is what we did tomorrow
This is where we are and how
to say no
even on special occasions
neutrality has been meaningless
we are selling-out now, how we sold
out tomorrow. Because we felt like it
And the mouths might be years from now
places to keep looking: capsules or vaults redeeming
the fatuous still-lives of blackbirds with an automatic
up and
an automatic down
and out,
get out, hurry