Stephen Williams

Language is Infinite, You're Not

I do what is easiest, what is infinitely easy, calling on no strength from the human part of the human being I am.

There is a grunt near the origin tree. A brightness revealing nothing. A vague ago now is and isn't. We are hopelessly late for consciousness.

Nightfall speaks all the continent's dialects, nightfall afizz with voices. Above the horizon breathes an amaranth star.

City cupped in both your hands, city running through your hands. Your death is the star only your star's light can reach.

Satan was everywhere. I flex my toes in my too-large shoes. So hard to become the person for whom it is easy.

The geek lives entirely on atmosphere. When the geek dies they bury him in thought. Ariel's made out of air, the geek's made out of pain.

What is a geek?

There's a breeze. The breeze agrees with you. But you don’t notice, your mind is elsewhere.

Ambulance lights at harvest, headlines screaming at the new moon.

Crowds of people move through the square, thoughtsteps the century's doomed heartbeat, move through my vision.

God is the infinite surface of a sphere.

What can I hope for? To scratch an itch.

The nation stands by awaiting forgiveness.

The world joins, separates, contains. A pause sings.