The typeface on a clock is leaking, writing a mirage across these incandescent walls to make a fool of beggers hunting treasures in the sentences it drips. Just listen for the fiction ticking there behind the slight of hand where readers take advantage of the fact that we were tricked. Disciples of an instant making idols out of guesswork letters lifted and recycled til their implications come to naught, we’re prideful in our verses not discerning our ill-timed assertions lack a certain tactfulness concerning when to stop. So speaking for an hour preaching to a single point while minutes trickle down the wall and seconds whittle past, I file away the weeks and months and only once I witness that the clock has ceased and all its numbers seeped in puddles at my feet am I convinced that silence writes much better manuscripts of all the wisdoms that I’ll never grasp.

#Dali #Metamorphosis

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