Quickly kiss them goodbye. Outside it's raining and the streets are slick shining with lights reflecting off dark grey surfaces. Last night the precocious K identified shapes from the backseat of the car: triangle, square, octagon and trapezoid. I don't know where he spied the trapezoid, but the words clearly defined his imagination, shaping those quick flashes of perception from the moon blue half-crescent night. And now, waiting for a heat sensor to be fixed in the car, I look across North Lamar to a field of juniper and witch grass behind chain-link. The grey sky's low and relentless, indifferent to this mechanical buzz. This human hum indeed is a drag, a methodology of concrete and criss-crossing wires. It's the destruction of the person by the black stone I look for, that black and white tension in extremis. A membrane separates and new life comes through it, not the old human form, but a deep reaching otherness like the elements animated in us. My wife, my child, my self—referencing the unknown. Pebbles in yellow paint in the parking lot. "Aristide flees; Marines step in." The news is old news, the human destroys everything. Crack its shell, let a new world in.
Posted by Dale at April 24, 2004 02:56 PM