A Mirage that Gnashes with its Deadpan, Unspools itself Heretofore

Walking aside this or this other one, walking away, walking back, walking myself home, walking myself to set my foot on earth, from wherever they are.

Thus, the mirror on the lake, the sun's reflection, simmering me down from my seizures, from my unreleased intentions. With peripheral zeal, I walked these nothern routes, wating to see how the lines undulate, how the sketches hone with my memories the cursive sky agleam.

And again, the wounds' sizes are the reluctance's width.

All the uncountable memories and acts amount to nothing at this time. All the knots that are still in my hand, the knots I've knuckled vehemently to any other.

Beholding how I ain't myself any longer, and how dearth have poured into me a tenet that I cannot sing about.

I of the motion picture soundtrack, forgetfulness the cinema, silence starring as the wall.