︎ 20 / static
Language used to leave a trail;
A kind of dust, like sand
It had a direction
A record of it's pouring
as a way to communicate
its intention to waiting receptors
and in that graininess of structure
we teetered on the edge of
a moment's existence
Scattered to the wind
our languages did none
of the things one would expect
The spilling of pasts and futures
told stories of emptied meaning
and the shapes that we were supposed to fill
We came at the forms from afar
and we described them to ourselves in fragments
showing that we no longer knew
the meanings of any names
We tried to say we existed
crafted sandcastles of our feelings
our tiny dramas imprinted in the ramparts
Nothing could be said
because everything had
been said at once.