These Thick Pixels

image copyright © 2017 Alfred O. Cloutier

just throw out ideas
then wait for sedimentation
as thick as a rectangle of light

wait for the thinning
that feels like meeting
for the third time

we know it sounds like mincing
across a random array of parallel needles
crushed flat on the mesa

our foot sleeved in skin
carefully crunching along
the eschato-wasteland

we are just us:
daughters of endless sons
stalking with alveolate bayonet

we are thinned like pain
anxious for the mesa drum to bounce with prey
anxious for the needles to jump upon the reverberating skin

we accumulate anxiety distilled from the origin held unbroken
anxiety stretched across the granite
(underneath the mesa, vaulted, veined, crumbling)
pulling from the place we met these thick pixels for the third time