Jump cuts

It's never enough.

Enough to quiet the words.

Enough to quiet, well... really anything.

There are always questions. Always doubts.

Always.

Shakespeare is playing in there. So's the Eagles, a couple of bars of "Where in the World is Carmen San Diego."

Random cartoon-like bubbles of conversations from days, weeks, years ago.

A whiff of a Central Asian road nearly a decade ago.

There are jump cuts enough to muddy the lines.

And the prevailing thought echoes the Teacher,

"Meaningless, meaningless. Everything is meaningless."

Shackles and tables

You can't rush a miracle.
Now, you can rush a miracle man, the lowercase kind.
But you can't rush a miracle.
They arrive precisely when they are meant to, as "those people" say.
Falling, stumbling, and caving in through the unspeakable
Until you turn one last time, and it's spread out
A cracked stone table, an eternal stream.
Room enough to sink into it, to die here.
But is it littering to leave this shackle behind?
Does it take too much? Presume too much?
Hard to say, you really can't rush these things.