Commute #1

This is the distance of invention, struck against the assembling edge of the Wednesday, a choral habitation faintly in the background like commerce, or the plain assumption of light, an optical menagerie of spots and blurs fixed against a sequence of automatic hellos. I made fun of the mountain in my dream, but then I was uncertain how to eat, or use my hands. Tiredness has a zooming quality to it. The handsome boy on the train plucks a fish from his eye. Things like this. The fondled analogy. It is hard to tell how desperate this music is, as one enchanted by the beeping certainty of diodes, as one wholly contingent on the interlacing stutter of the bus’s shadow through those of the park’s trees, but its clamorous bulk is teaching me form over and over with metallurgic heat. Come, help me string this banner from stop sign to stop sign. The day is full of phrases that we can use on it.