on the non-linearity of time

i am trying to clean the clutter of you out of my house. this is your city. how do i know what to recycle? the bin isn't even blue. 

i don't understand a lot of things. 

i am trying to keep on not understanding so i do not stay here. as if homesickness wasn't enough. 

the four miles between us is not 2600 but i am doing my damndest to convince myself. it does not help that you do my laundry on saturdays. 

my clothes come back smelling like your basement. 

once i got your underwear. 


the membrane between times is thin here; past and present, present past, present perfect progressive and future perfect progressive combining, i will have am being trapped here. as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. 

amen. 


do you remember the beaches of normandy, where the time membrane, too, was thin? ghosts of soldiers, my feet in their mud. their fear and mine. i could touch them. 


here it ripples with the river. the bridge is a mass of earthworms you find under a rock that go ten thousand ways. it is a beautiful feat of architecture. so much connexion. but you know, if you take the wrong exit, you're essentially fucked. four miles before you can turn around. too bad the way is etched into all my tenses.

i'm terrified i'll end up at yours by mistake. a wayward damning daydream. belly up.