As usual, I drift through the cold with hardly a sense of myself, but there are intense flashes of light, innumerable glories, strange silences and muddled expression to be pondered. I stole the title from Balzac - cheers Honoré!
…de plâtras incessament près de tomber
Ungrasped, all is holographic, passing near to unseen.
A tissue paper proof inscribed butterfly eye iris grey
We derive everything, plastic, old years streaked with paint’s
watermark. Loose, diaphanous slow diamonds,
dark optics ghosting around spheres of light it doesn't matter
There's not much foundation left chain wind gristle
Other visuals: bow-shaped accumulations of water to luminous arabesques of bone
strange latitudes, subsumed whorls. Progress is diagonalized,
whacked out of its plane a mimic.
O navigation. Bodies fat with water - fitful, vagrant potential as in sleep