The thin ice upon the water melts
even though no one watches it.
It happens.
Still, it happens,
moving still no less.
The happening belies the anticipation.
There was no need for the anxious structure
to grow around your limbs
as a crystalline facsimile of skeletal bearing.
The mind acts as a rubber band.
The action acting as a subtle brand;
contortions
mistreatment
made up story.
What it anticipates is more real
than what is real.
The miscreants purport of your house burning down.
Oh yes, that did not happen.
But you look down in a nightmare;
your hands all burnt up from the fire.
Wake up.
The house plant is no longer a skeleton of blades.
The shadow is no longer the man
doing things on Mulholland Drive.
I heard through the life I'm living
that water can have
any number of impurities in it:
some are good
some are bad.
