This makes no sense.
What is this sound?
Who plays this music,
where there is no instrument,
whereas across the road
there are butterflies out of the glass jar?
Hoof of dust trample timelessness.
where mists of curvity are quelled in straight lines,
and musical notes
halt their dances to characters
and tread all their twirls to spools,
and death like the spider webs
spread in silence as a tune,
in blank saturating with paints
in crystal clarity as blur,
in cracks on the windshields,
mirrors,
as wrinkles spreading permanently on the temporal objects.
Now I see the beat:
"temporal and permanent", temporal and permanent
the seesaw of tick-tacks,
oscillating oppositely,
now,
with a single oar
in the magic wand
of a maestro.
