tom taylor - ere what spoke

Ere what spoke, hard upon the layer of the day, air all warm and swimming in these final days of the summer sun, smell of burning wood from the woodcutters next door, some calmer air fills the heart with the fullness of life’s processes beyond the clash of titans down the street, in another country, on another plane of time and resistance…. This is the simpler hour underneath my feet all clay and stone masons chimney to the sky the polar fuses lit and run away into the dunes from whence came the crawling things of life so long ago yet not remembered save in the molecular structure of the mind’s craving to know itself from the ruling process which sand and cellar all preserve inside the line. This is the place where the sand blows under the door in the evening, along with the tide and the rolling combers sending in from across the sea.
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Still you came across the continent inside the tiny wires in the air sent by vibrating hums and eclectric monuments driven to the skies and then back again in falling waves of energy the voices strung from one tin can to another on this line of sight one tower to the next across the waves and skins of light the landscape cries the blues out of the radio speaker behind me, the sun’s pattern on the rug around the dog lying on the floor asleep again as if day had no memory beyond the silent thoughts dogs have while running in place. This ark this air descending like a light-rain striking the earth in growth and the final flowering plants their tiny red hairs calling attention to their completion. The papers smoke in the air’s benign indifference to cause or fashion moving hour by hour in repeated tunes are let along the airwaves the blues in the afternoon of science and realm.
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what sum, what period, what eventuality from the non relieves you from your doubt and strain; it’s a gran faloon here in the lesser hours of the tune itself, composed on the page with black spots and dashes, bulbs at the bottoms of lines, lines across the page for those who read the signs and transform them into other realms for the heart and mind to seal inside their memorized reflections changing minutely at the seam of light blending the skies from day to night and then back again. It’s the tree in the forest waiting to fall, now that there’s someone to hear it. Andy said, ‘if it hurts, don’t do it’ in relation to something smokable not the other way around… all too easy in the middle of the act itself not spoken but enshrined in the complexity of its specific density and season. You’d aside these more material scenes into the dream itself, an attraction yielded from the inside out at the command performed insouciant rebels. He qualified for the pullet surprise and left the country unannounced by all who followed in his footsteps of doubt.
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the paint bucket poured downside up at the clue of the reason on the wall. More like a fruited plane descending from overhead on the winds of above. You’d not plunged ahead nor hung too far back to the rear to miss the moment for your disappearance into the light speed at the rough eternity of the distant sign. The hired goons will not leave the terraces in the moonlight where they drive in black vehicles with smoked out windows at high speed across town, daring the gunfire from the rooftops and the alleyways, but then, they asked for it, they signed onto the distant adventure thinking to win some coin from chance and ever in the hoot of the tinker and the scam of the damned. Light rays emanate from the tower on the hill, in the shape of a man rising into the cloud heights along and simple in his passage through this vale of years. Nor unannounced by the teams at his disposal, the ruminant stranger plods his yank and spin across the page just like this.