else to do,
I still choose
to walk around
in silence
and keep my eyes
fixed on the
middle-distance.
And even if
everything here
that I witness
is an internal
construct, that's not
so bad;
at worst, that just means
that the whole thing's
replaceable—
at best,
that this city is
entirely mine.
It's a solitary
task and a
tall responsibility,
but only an oyster
can conjure a pearl.
Each fleck
of thought is a first
draft's first line;
so I touch one foot,
then the next
to the earth,
creating and abandoning
possible worlds—
then colonize
the realizable
space with my mind,
and watch
as it organizes time.
