i'm a stranger here

the metro, an instrument like a harp, like a bass, like you dream. and he plucks the strings like liquid, and everyone stops talking. and his friend begins to snap his fingers, the noise so simple, you might confuse it for the way your blood runs through your veins or the interior conversation whispered between organs, things you hear so well that you do not hear them. they sing in a language i do not understand, sweetly.

terms come unstuck from their definitions. they peel up slowly sometimes, sometimes come apart much faster, unravel, shatter. and when you gather these diverse perceptions, these laws, these rules, all for the same thing--what are we? am i doing the right thing?-- and you let slide all that diverges, what is left. and what you do with it.

a lump of clay
a child
a word
a group of words
and we knit together the world again