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the forward motion of virtue has been replaced by itself. by plants that water themselves, feed rivers, dream of snakes. carnivorous wishes and rope red medleys of scarlet fevers. trees defining height as vines fight for a strong hold, a home, a sapping strength of length. counted off like miles, candles on a cake. an abacus of detritus. equal bodies moving and sometimes coming to rest. more and less - a plural mess of excesses. downhill, a snow ball gaining speed waiting for the side of some steep sting to stop the whole thing. Some pretty velocity carrying the message and speed like a hungry disease. Now we know where the empty hands go, spinning their own webs, careful and slow. And silkworms, too. Making a show, waiting to be dyed, sewn, stripped. New sheets of sticky seasons wrapped around moonlit legs. Drunk like a Vegas parade. All desert dwellers learn the wet secrets of going underground. Suck the last drops of other living things. and waiting patiently for clouds to gather. the music of rain. the envelopes of injury. Calibrating machine mistakes to match the time it takes to formulate a whole new scene. Man made man and dropped the key to the door where the wind blows.
