“…he paced about the bricks with / empty glasses…”

A piece that transports and transforms. From the Archives, missed but now found in a Wormhole, this one needs to be sat with, allowed to burn like a glowing ember within the mind and heart of the reader, it illuminates and mystifies, mythologizes and moves and moves and moves.
Do go and “View The Original,” but be wary of these Wormholes. They are addictive. You will lose yourself. And you will be happier for it.

mlewisredford

“Wehrmut” by Cluster & Eno, from the album ‘Cluster & Eno’ (1977)

“…he paced about the bricks with
empty glasses…”

you could see the dust around his
shining car
driving into the desert

(he was driving through water he was
going away
he was drowning).

In the rooftop restaurant
I could barely see his eyes under
the reflection of building and sky

(on the street we
walked past the deep-blue sky poster
for cigarettes)

when he walked
the air rippled through his head
like worms, he said,

“…I felt the clear emotion
of the sky
I…”

“…crumpled inside
felt like wallowing yellow
like ribbed yellow…”

“…in my chest in
whapple, lapple, lapping, lopping…”
he laughed, dead serious.

He told me once
he smiled on the beach, the puddles
smarted his eyes

cut them:
real yellow tears
real yellow tears
real yellow tears

^{————w}(O)_{rmholes________________________________|—–}

beach wormhole: the…

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