Every Move

Your every move is also their move when you sit to think about it carefully munching on cookies dipped in cold milk on the morning of a bad weather day gloomy skies and dark clouds when birds have all gone back to their houses hiding inside their nests: thin-pin chargers plugged in, charging and recharging every battery cell owe bank inside large mugs of energy drinks flying kites and high-energy photons god particles, particular reincarnation of god, particularly god who needs to be thought about after the peeking into of the affairs of the lightning of some other world or some other part of a world that is so far away from wherever the birds are looking at electric wires carefully observing electric current that flows through them across points of potential poetic difference from places of high poetic concentration and rhymes and alliterations to the other ends of low poetic capability where books are Clarke’s tables, railway timetables, lottery ticket books, instruction manuals, dry how-to books dry like a bone, dry like a telephone one-way speech, hello, hello, are you there, can you hear me – cross talk – one end of half a conversation about falling cats and the best efforts to save them when you are balancing yourself on the ledge holding the windowsill with the tips of her fingers with painted nails that had scratched the face of someone or someone else the night before making coffee in dreams of silk, satin, chocolate and flowers tied with shining ribbons bought on shops on the sides of highways – why would there be shops on the highway selling gift-wrap and ribbons – a question for Rapunzel to answer on some other day that is not today