The Light the lantern   was back

on fire  blinkering

it cast no shadows                                                                                                                           it didnt illuminate the Hermit

                                                             he watched it for hours through glass  searching it 

and around it for the slightest shift  an alteration of brilliance  a flicker of fabric or bone 

button or glint off the forged talisman he knew the gnarled Hermit to wear

               the Hermit wasnt clandestine or prone to stealth  His robe was long and heavy 

and dragged the earth like clumsy rake tines

His step was measured  but also heavy

he took the glass from his eyes and rubbed them furiously

                                                                                 inside his head their vision sparkled   

white stakes crackle and crimson stars  finding one another they cloistered

and collapsed in on themselves

then clambered awkwardly and blindly in their sudden dark

                                                                                                      until a spark caught

and revivified they danced again

he slaked his thirst with cold wellwater from a ladle held in a wooden bucket he had

drawn before bringing the glass to his eyes

                                                                         he dipped his wrists in it

                                                                                                                       his heart 

quickened

then he filled his hands  cupping the water  and splashed it on his face and beard and 

worked it through his curling mane

he didnt believe the Hermit was dead

only banished

                                                                   and awaiting the right time to emerge again   

as He had before

not knowing Time  He didnt know patience

and had He its concept or known the darkness He stayed in 

                                                                                                             he wasnt sure

that He wouldnt be restless or angered

He was many things  but many of those things wouldnt have been desirable or deemed 

qualities

he returned the glass to his eyes with an uptake of a breath that wandered out of his 

mouth a reluctant sigh

                                        a jettison of nerves exhaustion and relentless willfulness

he understood Time

he knew patience

he knew He knew who pushed him into the fire and Light and lantern

     

                          Time was a limp matter   a snail crawling over the edge of a razor blade

senseless of everything else

except                                                                                                                                          where it was going

and on its nameless heels

stalked the Hermit

2318,  Friday,  18  7. 14      

                                                                                              The streetlights rubbernecked 

threw their caustic amber lights across the ground twisting the shadows of objects they 

spied 

then illuminated  splaying them like crimescene outlines atop the very-same objects 

shadows in a scintillating tick–tick-tick fashion 

                                                                                blurring and radiating them

into queer miasmas

inconclusive   effete evidence

which their operators would deem

unimpeachable

                         they were odd  disorienting visions

                                            skeins of venom undulating   curdling atop other purple 

skeins

graphic palimpsests

                                                                                                                   

sought  and then seen according to what it was they wanted seen

                                                                                   for no matter what they saw

they insist Reality was twisting beneath their eyes                                                                                                                                           

                                                                                           their Eyes  . . .  Cameras

--   mounted like a Cyclopean eye beside their brights    informed by their discretion   

mechanical discretion  --  Unerring

                      nothing is discrete under the distorted reality of rubber streetlights

seeking violence under the guise of diminishing violence

under the guise of lawbiding overseers

 

                                                                  personae   who readily took things from videos   

and informed the public they had proof  they could validate the appropriate authorities  

but couldnt share it in the public domain because such evidence might be reverse-

engineered  destroying the effectiveness of their schema       

                                                                                             not troubled that they would never be revealed under the streetlights fixated glare

                                                                          the streets and the streetlights werent for them

with streetlights averred   per directives   they found the RFIDs woven into jackets and overcoats 

shirts and even thin delicate silk clothing

                                                                        you were a fool if you didnt know they were there

if they werent

it was obvious that actor was going to be guilt of something at some time

and in societies best interest

the operators and streetlights were going to be proactive

than reactive

they were going to provoke

provide guilt

and it                                                                                                                                          

               better sooner than later
 

he wore his embedded RFIDs

and when the cameras swept him

he turned to face them pointing his finger

pointing his finger on a hyperextended elbow

                                                                                 they zooming in  zooming in tighter

he was sure

and the while he smiled  licked his chops  imagining his pointed finger larger ever larger 

ever larger

                   where then  he stabbed his finger and put out the offending eye

there is no difference between fabrication

and fantasy

2242,  Wednesday,  16  7. 14

1451,  Friday,  18  7. 14