is a fixed point that moves on a plane, an ant wiggling.
Time, a line-less reel, eternal cast & pull, weightless.
Try to inscribe light with unbraided ropes--
use each separate strand. You feel with soles: concrete
is concrete—ideas transmogrify into solids—flight, computers,
wireless internet. There is a prototype for cages still
unknown—who says there are only steel bars & girders?
Concede the breath. Night falls behind the ears. It cools. Torch the softest part first, see how far fingers go in, stretches. Half of the time spent in wonderment. She can never believe the stove is turned off. He can never believe she never believes. The missteps, a dance of catastrophe. Strophe. The choir enters. Antistrophe. You are naked & watching as your scalp snows in mounds.
-- Glenn Taylor is originally from Detroit, Michigan, spent a few years living in the Chicagoland area, and recently moved back to the Detroit area. He works as a technical writer and in his spare time, chases around his two-year-old who is becoming…terrible.