Is it
Honest mistake
or strategic play?
Miscalculation
or careful calculus?
Oversight
or bullseye?
Am I
Power
or pity?
Bristle
or breath?
Ram
or chump?
Will this
Knit
or expose?
Does it welcome
what expels?
Does it expedite
delivery?
The first page is one
then one
then one
stuck
together turning
no second
page, every possible
arc
and not a plot
in sight,
not for 17
hours
at least
when morning
will decide
what I can’t
know
no matter the torque
my thoughts apply
Here raise
the volume to 10
Resistance
to 20
Skin
to boil
Gaze
to black pane
and silver flash
boiling up
a roar
the only silence
for miles
this noise
is the clock
drowning in night
This is
the story
shelved
Shannon E. Williams 
Ideal by Mei-mei Berssenbrugge
1
I did not know beforehand what would count for me as a new color. Its beauty is an analysis
of things I believe in or experience, but seems to alter events very little. The significance of a bird
flying out of grapes in a store relates to the beauty of the color of the translucency of grapes.
There is a space among some objects on a table that reminded her of a person, the way the bird reminded her,
a sense of the ideal of the space she would be able to see. Beauty can look like this around objects.
A plastic bag on a bush, moving slightly, makes an alcove, a glove or mist, holding the hill.
Time can look like this. The plane of yourself separates from the plane of spaces between objects,
an ordered succession a person apprehends, in order to be reminded.