Shattered glass

Bellevue to Waterloo, midnight unicycle circumambulations, chewing nails and dodging snails seeking their sweet sucklings.

A television set waiting for the little green man, then crossing, dangling its tail to the ground. Sparks fly upward. It's just been lost or found, either way it's too hot to mind, time to simply smell the honeydrip sky and enjoy this most Indian of summers.

Glass shattered to a tiny dicing, clarified musing on trouble's own paint-stripped doorstep, a back-lane pheonix overlit, shining too high, too soon. Each holds the germ of an idea, the promise of a secret, the extraction of an elementality.

Diffractions reflections subjections projections - none of these apparitions and salutations are necessarily real, recollections of seeming insolvitude drawn stretched coaxed to taut precision. Yet here they are one after another end to end a seamless faultless impression of complexity that couldn't be simpler. Simply could not.

Then this: the re-auditioning mannequin lost the chance to play his own part in the movie of his own near-life - tears well in the pits of his hollowness, he'd long longed for this role, hoping to make amends. He fluffed his lines.