As They Were Before
A continuation
No one really changes. Change is the only constant.
Drama, a little bit of life, yeah? It insinuates itself, weaves itself through every dark cell of you. No matter the contradictions held in the same body. Here you thought you were completely new: the next, someone touches your shoulder, all reassurance, brushes your hair behind your ears, solemnly, solemnly gazes deep into your eyes to tell you that what you are is a clone.
You were here last year.
And the sun keeps up the eternal revolution. Revolutions bring change, don’t they? But here you are, again. It’s meaning that we mean. That static dance of electrified verbs crashing through febrile skulls alive with the heat of a burning day. Or a well below zero one. It hardly matters. You’ve been here before and when you walk out the door, careful to lock things up, you know you will be right back.
You wake up. You turn on the steam engine that makes your morning latte. Or midnight one. It hardly matters. You go through these movements brewing each of them as a carefully retained recipe against anything final. If nothing changes you will NOT end.
Do you ever put on your left shoe before your right? Do you know the difference in the texture of cloth of the right sleeve of your jacket from your left, how the…
