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| Artwork by Jo Nin* |
The Sea is the Possibility
Sitting on an empty park bench,
Flow is sunning
himself.
No. That’s a lie. The wind blowing leaves
Sounds like waves hitting rocks.
The sky is gloomy.
Flow is not in the park. He is at the beach
Searching—
A hidden poem. A hidden eddy in the sea. A sea that is the possibility. A possibility of falling and being pushed back on the shore. Lurching. Full of sands. Not pretty. Though they will eventually fall away from him. The sea rejects him the way his mind rejects his body. The love that bonds them, like the sands on his body, is greedy but never ever sticky enough.
Wittgenstein and Flow
Wittgenstein came to see Flow last night. He spoke in German. But does it matter? Flow likes
to take things to an extreme. He has
been eating Marinara Spaghetti for a
month, for example. He is thinking Thai
tonight.
Flow should have called him Ludwig, not Wittgenstein. But Wittgenstein is a masterpiece. Define ‘master’. Define ‘piece’.
Enough languages. Enough games now. Do not play.
Come,
flow with—
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