Saturday, October 25, 2008


Two people imprisoned in adjacent dark cells. One no longer remembers. One whispers. He cannot begin to know what to say so he describes the alphabet, letter by letter. A dark line rising like a mountainside, attaining the peak, then returning to the ground. A horizontal between these two lines, a bridge or shackles spanning the legs. This letter, a beginning, an open mouth, an oxhead inverted. From here, the alphabet goes on. It has to go on. From one stepping stone to another. Even in fear, it retains its order. A magnetic force pulling forward. Each letter a new day in an alphabetic month that will begin again. That will always begin again. That remembers.


Jeff said...

Indeed, it must begin again. For the only constant is (dare I say it?) flux.

Eccentric Scholar said...