– in the morning we woke and began the tedious preparations for later
– the sibilance ripped against our ears
– the implicit attributes clung to our literary devices
– the hum energetic
– as if to heed the brooding elasticity of the moment
– tired and hungry
– the day stretched out before us in all the unfamiliar hues which we have only now grown accustomed to
– while the ones we had practiced beforehand bled into the thick stars we painted
– the sky in purple ambience
– constellations formed vast networks
– a latticework tumbled into being
– and the sudden formalization of our logic left a crude and bitter taste in our mouths
– so we repositioned our bodies to better anticipate the metamorphosis
– these fundamental limbs, apertures, layers, etc.
– the predictions were inevitably rough at first
– and everything seemed so disjointed
– you had a far-away look in your eyes when you thought of home
– and later you announced your return on all immediate digital platforms
– it became an event, a homecoming
– somewhere, beyond the sea, Telemachus is waiting
– his body rests
– but there is always this movement
– this coming-forth-out-of
– there is a shifting presence of methodologies
– it all evolves, as if at once, from this rigid type of prediction
– so we became seers in our own right
– and we played little memory games and tried our hand at guessing
– like when you read me the OS patch-notes in a deep monotone voice
– you reminded me of the Sybil
– the lyrics we copied down onto loose-leaf paper after the flipping of Tarot
– the five-day forecast we taped to the refrigerator
– the notes we set for our future-selves on Post-Its and iPhone reminders
– the dactyls we broke across six metric feet
– so that by this point, a singular expression of the present could easily be confused with a catalog of
futures
– and movements
– and the echoes that we’ll remember were just hallucinations
