A Mark Left

The lake was dark.  We both knew it was there.  The glistening, the gleaming, they fractured across its length, flickering through the leaves' shadows, large rocks, shrubs, and outlines.  Swiftly concealing-revealing the glimpses of blinking silver light suggesting like shapes, ripples, and breaks.  The creases that caused themselves to speak to us – that peculiar way.  Through the folds in the winds and the water, visual voices display melody.

Silently it watched as we drove around its winding edges, passing occasional headlights.  Bright and blinding interruption and the return of total darkness.  My focused spotlight, sleepy and straightforward.  Without love, without care, we let our lives roll across the asphalt, along fading yellow lines, at whatever miles per hour time would allow.  Til death do us good, the living light of night make right the villains made this day, the lies we let lead these sorry feet into happy descent sorrowfully seen.

a bit about

the bit that flips whether the feeling is there to live or to cease, the sorting out of those that opt out of this kind of seeing.  The organization of procession is reorganized and the movement moves again, a different attempt, a different distribution - collection and corruption.  The variability sparks variously here and there.  Pockets flare and cellular attacks prove the fronts are nothing less than all options wiped off the table.  

Stress Floorboards

Running away from carpet covering half that part of the house, I jam my feet down hard into every squeaky floorboard to whine its cry throughout the rest of the connected house.  Vibrating sound travel through the beams and boards.  Make my intentions hazily known.  I step into the ground layered with the sediments of human intellect - designed into cheap components exemplifying elementary concepts - shying staying far away from the grandeur of so called chaotic organics.
Roots creep back curiously into the hollows of eyes and any crack left widening.  Absorb its manifest effect into the history of your soon to be.  Petrified man I am
, dissonance dissolving resonance reducing clarity by the grains
of film and hourglass seduction, time itself lures us to witness its passing
in pure isolation, pay homage to its theoretical reduction, this poetic expression.

Ending soon becoming
another seed of beginning, the birth of destruction as generic
as a lower dimensional symbol held high, stuck side of crude old war helmet.  Its blood dried
value increasing with the hissing of our mandatory friend, time.  Time and again
time ticks like a lingering silent virus wheezing zzz zzz zzz softly sounding omega zzz still alive in the end zzz, through zzz, zzz a visual language zzz manipulated to the extent of its zzz malleability zzz gold of alchemy zzz arising zzz from nonsense zzz relative zzz zzz zzz meanings are lost in zzz zzzzzzzzzzzzdreamzzzzzzzzz.  And but
conjoined ticks from the last remembered maybe forgotten, easily
constructed
tick, to this tick.  Oh tick.  Oh tock.  My address in time is a binary mess of mundane sameness, alternate tick and tock, repeat ticktock, refashion into clicks, beeps, silent and faceless.  Hands idly circling a center with every measured movement in circular alignment, the vortex of time flattened for the dumb in the mind.

Groundhogs day is the first movie you watch on your groundhogs day
to the day you die, a long day indeed.  Enough for you to forget which what deed might or may have led to some such pain or tragedy, so the brevity of life is conceived in the flickering glimpse you get
a rare moment of contemplation arising from the complications of being pressed to do nothing.  What vision felt like without division.  If only you could explain with the words you will return in.
A being living through the confines of life and its bodies, the beauty escapes the traps' passion to trap it.  The hardest thing to see is something to be.