Partition of the Day

The dawn makes fools of us all. It fills us half full like open barrel drums left out in the rain. There's no excuse, except to say: we stand among crystalline mist, the yawning light teasing us to immortality. We prune angels with gravel and future memories in our pockets, like poltergeist stars. Midday reaks of sweat to us. Dinner--an inextricable film of causality. At night our dreams exist as double entendres. Only in the stretching illumination, the ensemble of spectral waves and negation, are we forever beings of suspension, beings of bent light, constantly unable to know inelasticity, and here is where we live.