><

Today the lake is steel grey.
It washes inandout
first saying yes,
then saying no,
tossing words about.
An ebbandflow.
A text-machine.

And.

Time is a watch.

It is the sound of crunching steel.
Grinding up against cement.
Rear bumper dropping to the ground.
Shards spraying metal hieroglyphs.
Noting singularities like timeless stars.
The shape of space.
And every moment drips with pastandpresent futures.
Like the slide of tea leaves up the curve.
The tip. The spill.
The seconds stretching chords into acute awareness.
Clustering events within the throw-inside-the-roll
of every gesture tossed.

The left-or-right of it.

All moments spilling into now.
As metaphors survive.

Much like Alice's becomings.
Where, at every moment, she is something else.
How the hands of a clock
move her back and forth allatonce.
Like the inside of a crashing car.
The continuity of (her) existence
in aporetic super-imposition.
Static images layered
like a stack of slides.

All moments layered onto the now-of-lesons-learned.
To savor every moment for exactly what it is.

And.

Another throw.
Another roll.