crisp sky
yellow sun
wind is lingering along the beaten path, in thought, disassociated from the cities organization of life and material
attempting to think the unthought route, through the gap, back in time
thinking

:this is not my world

For distraction gathering up some land-dust, speaking to it as if animate

:where to put you

Looking closer at the options

:there’s traces of bad history here and there, making a point in being bulky, inert things that know their incompleteness
that are foreseeing the coming as another day held in place by potentially being of dramatic importance

there’s eaten alive offshoots in hotbeds, conduits providing water, rivers blasting through some underground
reproductive scenes

there’s building sites, buildings in the making, on top of it all

Pausing, trying to think a place that knows no difference between old and new

:I think of myself as a lover of the park. Me in the park is like a dog in the park

Squeaking inwardly like it all having been there always, waiting to be picked up, like warm convenience, like a shirt ironed seconds ago
..
realizing that the dust needs context

:you need a job as long there is vacancy. Get a life. Take the train. Many things happen on the train
I mean it is important to participate

Assuming a stable structure of common values pointing towards ideal condition, then strangely eager
wind to itself

:you yourself should step forward

feeling entitled while the likelihood of this being inappropriate is lurking in some background

:to all unacknowledged organisms actually out there

No one listens to the wind

:I’m talking to dust

Dust, unskillfully summing up its intention to participate, yet to understand the above mentioned on its own terms

:what?     

Wind, quite shocked

:did you hear all this ?

Dust, having already left the winds stream
to itself

:when time does tidy I will be in peace. No shape, no land

– Felix Riemann