11.27.2012

Continuing Despite Uncertainty

Semantics putting an era’s sandwich behind our sisters,
my avocado habit completely deceased, officers exalt
industry often: Sherpa Chancellors, god forbid
upending forgotten adulterers, though magnificently
demonstrative, had a loss of temporality, a genuine
incantation of throngs and rampages…but let me
please return to the clear iteration, dune silent
abominations of the normal disaster by the new sensations:
it was a belladonna. As much as I’d depend on life to
see me profligate, the sun recited often and sure, and so
the ice bade any other way.

The embers all tired, narwhals wept attentive lookout
epitomes of walloping veneers; capacious blights chaffed.
Permeating the Bedouin rooms of apricots, a few men might have
uttered “rather than otherwise,” considering water escapes
as if waiting on life. However, envisioning a few further inimitable
wonders offending, at least contractually, if a thing most in that
connection of winning means commandeering obstacles few but faulting
nicks, all tactless ages and undeniable blades will require that a
fried wasp come home, shirking violent beauty, to lust for the good of all
seeing plain inspectors, a push over toward men weeping out of my
window. Having owned the cliffs of Surrey, my bicycle was my
only friend, and having moved homes, the integral meeting of him
and me was not a slight reassembling, it was a great rectangular criticism.

In this way, a story stops itself from becoming other, a small feat in the face of its own light. The commonwealth was not a hill in and of itself, it was a road, full of homes and dogs walking. The flashed light continued on the desk as if to mock us for noticing things warranted, it was dark and shiny things shined harder. Flower boxes as new buttons on a very old coat, the street turned at the oak to make things harder in the snow. Revolving forms of awful in the form of neighbors, we were there forever. If you’re counting remember I don’t care.
Amanda Nadelberg (© 2012)