casts and moves

casts and moves, casts and moves, casts, and moves you it is time, now, for those pen nibs to float and follow and move you in those dreams they live there in that place with the stopped clocks, the ruined notebooks, and all the other old analogue things - it's all hands and shafts and ruled lines lucid, now, but pointing where? they point two ways, but right all day, but it's your hands, now, and it's here, with all the pigment you know, you see, that will not wash, not ever the story: a priori, you cried tears of archival ink your grief all over hands and bodies and bodies of - you let it dry - while you were thinking of inversions searching for bodies of and hands and bodies - a body tender enough to revive it and all the while you were standing over it all sweat and tears - then it struck you - it struck you right in the neck - one seven, one seven, one seven, one seven, you know it's true before the pain eats the shock because green water looks wrong when you paint it green - you…