on tenterhooks
- the dreams have been alternately appalling and redeeming lately
- the circadian rhythm has been interrupted, intercycled
- the smallest, white, tablets... vanished into memory
- the appeal to a personal history dissipating in the wind
- the elements of text aligned, then misremembered
- when, in the face of alarm, sleep / wake / dream?
- where the labyrinth used to call: only echoes?
- how did it all come to this anyway?
- what was the signal that broke, the sigil that suggested?
- who even was the progenitor of things?
- why was the path taken that, and not the other?
- ...these | become the questions that ought to abide.
- ...this | is the dream of my fraying escarpment of spacetime.
[ Walking through a deserted Fisherman's Wharf some midnights ago... ]