Aleatoric

Take time, newspaper click, spiral corrosion
cliff face erosion.  Applause disjointed.
The beach, my romance, clear for miles
better sun than can be seen over those
applauding.  Violins, their tone once long, cut
synthetically short, the artificial space between
notes disorienting.  I heard someone walk down
the hall, I watched them with my eyes closed.

Take time.  The guitar strings are fingers.
Fingers vibrate as we tell them to.
My commands in darkness lay claim
over the existing in light, object pressed to move
by me, makes a newspaper.  The events
are disjointed, floundering uncollaboratively,
reporting their absence in phrases of being.
One floating in such space, questioning
what is real--the star so far away,
or the earth only temporarily beneath his feet.