Skirmishing With The Singularity

"We cannot know the present in all its details." — W. Heisenberg
In the current present the solstice light uncoils like rhythm out of continuous sky on legato wings skimming the Big Bang in a transitive beat such that if day is larger than night and spring larger than day then it follows that the light of day is surging into our etiolated burbs down driveways and cul-de-sacs fretting the frost from rooftops pouring through fences as the tropospheric sward tilts stultifyingly away from winter’s goosebump skies riprap with analog clouds filling with light fastidiously warming the bare barcode of lawn hiding Bluebells in my neighbor’s soil while their hand trowel hangs in the garage and they are still in Florida unaware that petals of sulphate blue responding to the signal shall burst through drabbled dirt as through a portal beside the chain link fence resolutely guarding our yards still full of the clumsy carapace of last year’s cucumbers whose weltered and wried veins grip the lattice and flounce through the fence’s diagonal squares on the well-begotten edge of of a past present
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