Theoretical Flight (Red Desert)

Posted on December 31, 2009

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I read a story it went something like this:

It was a day for dressing in showered linen.

In season a girl walks on a beach. 

The crowd watches from the clocktower shouting.

Her watchstrap breaks.  He picks up the pamphlet.

Splash!  She swims out, then back in again.

A bird settles on a wave out at sea.

A promontory of rock dust brown in colour.

Sundays are devoted to narrative.

She spoke.  She said: this is my story.

The story followed long wavy lines of water.

After long silence.

Do I seek the straight edges?   Do I follow their joins or join them myself?

The air was wavy.

And so in the end they only discover where they lead?

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