for Ana

  The distance between expanding curves is vexing.
    Consider what is lost

    across lines primed for transoceanic dispatch;

     in our acceptance of the mainstream map
      of this binarised earth.

        We can’t extend, can’t translate or erase the borders

          add or subtract entity from global process
           or the democratising caste of fibre optics.

            Migration, complete and pending, has our passage marked.

             Some narratives defy their introductions. We pastiche
             the prolificacy of Balzac, adding detail

             to the detriment of action, forgetting what we signify.

            Arcs occur, counter to the cut of extant prose
           we recount boldly, without depleting.

          From time to time, preconceptions emerge to define us

        but how little they contribute to our final shift; to
       our shadow.

     The weak see a future developed by category, sure to

   employ no more sound than thunder. But we’ll have
  damage to spend, uselessly and well, to stop the world

inscribing: to gesture to those imperfectly alive.

Image: Lines / flickr