Idly focused on the billowing sky, my imagination got all tangled up and eventually captured by nothing more than swirling clusters of physical particles—puffs flattening, twisting, curling, dipping, lashing, splaying themselves across the Tuesday canvas. Not in a way to be remembered, not to be documented or commented on; just to be what is and what passes for Tuesday.


And I watched them on their spiraling journey, their life-changing tour of the Deep Deep South.
I saw una bicicleta become rat,
and rat become gator,
and gator become bird,
and birds, of course, fly away.
And I'd like to be rearranged like that.


If I were unattached [and unattachable], so extremely ungraspable and fleetingly unaware of the surroundings I was painting, coloring and shading, I could be brilliant too.
I would go collect somewhere, in the shape of something, and be seen, or unseen—but be, without stipulations.