Trials, triad

Some things stay with me, like a fire.
I was stuck at the top of the bridge, you see, just stuck there. There's a path up there, so that walkers can cross and bikers could too, you see. And there's another path up there, crossing, flossing it just so, so that one may rest, or hound a res-bowl.
I thought of those things--resting, res-ing, re-sing--as I stuck it up there, stuck. Freedom came to mind, but not too often. I don't know who tied me there, but it would seem that they wanted me dead.
I watched the sun rise and as my feet turned to ghost I laughed: you may never catch a ghost.







Hey, honey? He wants to talk to you about something for a second, or a second. He wants to bring up where you've been and what you've been up to. Why haven't you been returning his calls? He falls. Here, honey, you talk to him. He wants to know where you think this is going, where summer's coming, how it's moving, where does the tide go?
Your floor wore thin in some tin you tanned, fanned out over pine, to shine and deliver.
Simple me this: Where have you been all this time?






To eat a mason jar
You must be very strong.
Open it up, break the jaw. Fist in, push down, feel flows, let go.
There is glass inside of you now.
You may hold something in your inn, in your glass that is inside of you.
Sat down, glass can be heavy.