THE PAST TENSE
OF WATER
A new soldier has no hands : it's always
the same : follow orders, do nothing. Unless
you're told, either way. Enact. I am holding
a notebook of my own devise. The pages
tun backwards and take me to time. The
land I came from is still a mystery to me :
the skies were green ammonia, vapor until
something was formed; we animated thought,
but seldom walked away. Our sun was a
crystal light, ongoing, that changed places
constantly with everything else. By glint
of this, there were no 'definite' objects,
like a slow world has. There, all things
were on the move, and constant. Vibration
and frequency and energy. Together as one.
We had no Eden, and we had no God,
because there was no need for one. If, say,
I spoke to you, it was because a thought had
formed a world that we then had to process
between us. An entity we shared. A million
worlds a moment, constantly underway.
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