LINE STRETCH

//grant czuj

Snow falls after a sunburn.
Winds whip in the cold, and
cool in the heat; rolling on
through the ethos, over
the self and on to the next
self and on to the next.
A singing bird, a
bending tree, a passing
and lumbering humanoid. I may
ask what the differences are, though
I’ll probably get no luck in answers.
I can rarely draw a
line straight and correctly.
There may be more of a
distinction in the shadows, the
tonal perceptions that need
to be blended together properly
for me to get the whole picture.
My eyes holding a
handful of paintbrushes,
throwing and laying down
thick and thin pigments
of white and black. A cohesion
of grey. High mountains
and low valleys and heat waves
and cold fronts and electrons
and the vast universe.
The mind stretching and
hyperextending to try and make
sense of such differences.
My thoughts don’t put clothes
on my back or food in my belly.
My thoughts are usually on a
slow simmer on my brainpan. A
cool river or the seaweed touching
my toes on a lake swim helps
quench and slow the cooking.
Seemingly, separation is egotism and
egotism is like a streetcurb
in the dark. I trip
on it then crash into a
full trash bin. Tonguing my
chipped tooth I may stare at
the buzzing streetlight above,
wondering where the
electricity is coming from.

//Grant Czuj usually hears the words before he sees them.