White: prose-poem

WHITE

The dangerous gaze goes in search of a creature it will find ominous, but for understanding what or where the tool one at liberty would budge past tolerance. Paste circles the budge forth by curiosity, the killing piece of damning inquiry does not kneel: one encounters the taboo one seeks to mollify the howl inside oneself. How from beneath straightened lines for observing any point between this conclusion, the crooked canyon one painstakingly empties kilometers free of the gallons no one has ever tasted, and lived upright enough to present it as factual proofing? Meteor ahead, streaked brighter than all the space for descent back to where it all reached a point, then crow clawed furrows of dismal hinterland observable from one's own countenance. Where the red goes berserk, the dark is a fish quarry no longer marbled to all the aerial blue fossilized once rheumy: the white of the eyelet drowns the source of how dangerous it looked for a complete turnover. Vertigo, in the residual expressions one shows when furtive, one is only as the heat is to the clouds and is only escarpments for what is dissolved, once the red and dark and blue halt full from where inside the blinking decimal, one is all but infinitesimal without the canvas underneath what keeps gaze replete.