Henri Michaux - Untitled - draft

Space me out, spread and stretch my wings Graft me onto the aerial view to be snapped open feathered eyes to elongate, excavate skies to subterranean, conclave indecision, restless waiting Eye to eye, we look for similarities, sniff out those who smell right, add up the infinite to blow our brains, paint over cracks, stack what we have, await a tumble. Scream only when underwater: why the gaps, why the gaps, as rivers rush uphill, whilst our brains invert to fix the eye's problem. If you wander, keep to the edges, life is full. There are steps, levels, summits; double-backing is the issue - the world falls away, falls in that way, again. We’ll explain the mysteries, track movement, label the entities, put the groundwork in; affect vision, get them all looking down - look at ourselves, we're boxed and ready. Push on with the next round; paper bags hold all you own. Concentrate so it doesn't tear or tip - you must get home, it's the object of the game. Before we know it, limbs are bent, we examine just the ground beneath us; until we drop into the hole, forgetting there was a sky and we had wings.