201. Grey Area

Everything is safe.  Sometimes is all.  No one is sure what x has been doing for the last six weeks.  Yesterday is going better than last month.  X swallows, rolls, tries to think what he is thinking of.  Of which, within which there is more.  Not everything can be accessed currently.  On the floor, strewn said-he’d-does, hasn’t-done-yets.  Please wait.  It starts to feel like ghost time.  Here goes time.  The next hour passes first, the one after next.  X is addicted to not putting any plans in motion.  The day progresses process-less, nothing to help remember it to us.  Happy is action, sad is action.  No one is sure what was expected of x today, or what x expected of x today, or how this could be measured.  When he looks down, lying down, there is nothing below.  Down is no up.  Strategy is everything.  Plans to make plans.  A structure could elevate.  Here there is next to no danger.  Or no danger, is danger.  X feels dangerous.  In danger.  He scrunches his hands, stretches, curls in half.  Nothing touches x, the air’s edges rounded off.  He’s ground down fun, pickled energy.  X floats.  A submarine angel amongst clouds of steam.


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