Notes on Iterating

Receiving Islands

There’s a few things to know about leaving. Once done, it can’t exactly be replicated.

Water reflection. Similar enough, but still different. You’ve got different hands. Different legs. Different hairs atop your chin.

Wavering hair. Not wind.

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Growing is necessity. Hair is necessity.
Hands are tools. Yellow is here. Necessity
vessel. Wandering along water reshifts, of course.
Like driving. Like cop stop. Like time’s up. Not blown up.

Everything unfilled, and water still returns.

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My exchanging rate can be likened to stolen check out.

Check me out, I’ve got guns the size of Jupiter. I’ve got parts inside my parts. Diver’s cap compress.

There’s invisible tendency in a misrepresentation, it becomes almost the goal. Scored like a matchbox. Score like a match point. Scored like Maestro. Final scorn like trouble. (Oh, you’re in trouble)

We’ve run into the Thunderstorm.

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There’s a few things to know about setting sail for an island. You can only do it once. That moment, that suspending call, that letter passed through metal… It’s singular. When reaching that point off the charts,
where’s prediction now?

The perimeter is measured and respected. Black marked like
dropped. Bird wings working like a ship. Almost a paradigm. Passing finish
line. Almost running out of time.

So, this time around, winter. This time around, field. This time around, lovers undivided. This time around there aren’t consequences for speaking crass. This time around… it’s spring!

And you remember… that you can fly!

Like a caress on your back, or a snap in your hip. Pulling rope

is muscled. Fish jumping because they’re told.

You’ve got larger hands than expected. Nail dropping into the deserted land.

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And, what’s the goal of land?
To build your imagination when it’s run dry of fruit.
To lift your spirit with juice.
To feed your hunger with wishes.

But,
an island is only an island.

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The invention of the word came with issues unaware.
Rehearsed this in various iterations, but you’re going to do it with me. I’ve got something to say, but somebody said it better:
“...which is why I’m telling you about it’”
Immediacy unbeknownst. Intimacy coordination like the new system.
So, here’s the plan:

“[drift] back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles.”

You can say touch me here, here, and here. Then map them out like on a drawing table. With your fingers, with your toes, with your chickens all placed in rows. Just the same old rock.

An island is only an island, if told to be so.

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You’ve thought and thought about what it means to be here... Coming down the ladder. Filling in the silence. Circling favorite spot. Machines being constructed with unworking. The joke is actually
over your head. Got to
write that down. Couldn’t forget to
write that down. Hey, come on,
write that down.

Rations are still perfect. Addiction is mitigated when spoken. There’s nothing caging your Lion.

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Here’s what you’ll say:

“Yellow is the color of the sun and the shape of a hand. It’s useful to speak in a tongue unknown. Better unknow that tongue while you’ve still got a dome.”

Something to note, while atop the tree. The tree of the land, of course. Is there nothing left to give you. You’ve got the hammer. You’ve got the radio. You’ve got the lungs of fish. All ribs counted

twelve. With a big breath and a shot in the dark, there’s got to be something to land on. Meeting sand. Lifting water.

It’s hard to think on an empty stomach.

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You’ve got it down like the ground.
There’s no good reward for a letter left unfinished. Just marks.

So you can say:
Accomplish and surrender.
Supply and bargain.
Offer and exchange.
Beg and press.
Release me and I told you.

I want to use my gift on you. I’ve put a spell on you. I’ve got to leave this place,
find an island.

Yellow is the color of the day in which love has won. When a deal completes, you’ll hear the ring. The ring of a trumpet and the band on your gift. Yellow is the color of my eye when it explodes. Blue is here and this is the truth:
You are the apple. You are the encrusted. You are the blind guided.

Everything bound like taut lines on a map. Y’know, stowaways
mustn't trouble themselves with coordinates.

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