Xronos
For instance: the steering wheel bucks under your hand, refusing you, and the road starts to whip like a ribbon in the wind. The screaming animal in you looks out through the wide windscreen at a movie you’ve never seen, though you’ve been told about it since childhood: really, this? The steering wheel bucks under your hand. Like this? So strange to see the road whip, to feel the car’s new drift. But stranger than the new movie is that the old movie is over. The screaming animal looks out through the windscreen. You held a hundred threads in your hand, spring was wet and summer was to be dry, Friday was cruel and Saturday was to soothe you. The road starts to whip like a ribbon in the wind. The hundred threads are out of your hand. The staircase you half climbed spins into air above you; no one will ever know half of what was in your head. Really, like this? So strange to feel the new drift. All you lived was prologue, the curtain hadn’t lifted. The screaming animal looks out through the windscreen, dropped into a movie you’ve never seen. You held a hundred threads in your hand, and the road starts to whip like a ribbon in the wind. Really? Spring was wet, the staircase spins into air. The steering wheel bucks under your hand. You were told about it since childhood. Like this? The old movie? All you lived was prologue. Summer and Friday, the wide screen. Halves and threads. Threads.
