#93

The work, with the coming snow, must be widespread like a canvas. Stop. And go. Day 1, of maps and such that wander. S and S in step: loop, part loop, and recombine. Cheese and berry danish, say. The latest issue of The Wire (?). Destinate. Or perhaps they find double-you leaving. Spot another on the way.

Blanks. A regular series in which to draw conclusions. As JMR once put it, "Start at Chapter 9 and read backwards and forwards." Andy retold this; I remember. A kind of doubled symmetry.

And then there's alchemy. Lora's secret symbol. Many wards and such. The records refashioned as bowls. It's my past in which she lives: 2020 Fairmount, the downstairs door. Look up and you'll see me, bare form against the sky. Azazel at my feet, familiar.

One more thing to add. The logical word invites an audience. The particular sign describes transcendence. It's not the Cage that he imagined. Shrere - (............) - srhun, bpum (..). You hear an arrow, and a horn held down. Michael, who flew from name to name, a honeyed bee in pointed turns. Outside the window, in Lora's garden. In the grander scheme, the white spaces between the signs still showing. Jennie feeds her hermit crab. With a ruler, Greg props the sprawling tomato plant. And there's noise from the stairs beneath. Oh, the seconds, reiterating as if single, long, and thickly framed. It is not for suffering that we move as such, but boredom. And the stairs: BAM, BAM, BAM.