July 21, 2006:

Once a flâneur— though no longer nimble or lively

but still eager—always a flâneur—

On the rue de la Femme-sans-Tête

a large room illuminated only at one end—

Serenity impeding density amends recollection—

Once knew–in preference to yet to know, have yet to say—

Extricate and balance the message from the message and conclusion—

A raw veneer—

The carelessly hidden balanced

along a low narrow arc fraying to accompany—

Silent feed-lines of copper and brass catch the light

along a corridor flanked with polished instruments

keys levers dials knobs pipes and at carefully determined intervals

dignified raised ceramic numbers coded green and black—

lead conduits for run-off and waste are hidden in the walls and beneath the floors—

Mnemonic clamor—

A word, a phrase in a carnival alphabet

waiting to be set to music—

The prosecution advances its atonal welcome

The only way to be decisive is to be slow and quiet

Like a fist closing-the only way to be slow and quiet is to be quick—

Use, usury, 'usered'—

RHYTHMS OF 3

[Won] Fugitive, fatal, and still further on—

[Due] Not mortal enough—but ambient, eponymous, and furtive—

[Tree] Shapely, though neither young nor beautiful,

but frugal, impatient, and uncompromising—

"I remember nothing that happened worth relating this day. How many such days does mortal man pass!" -James Boswell, Journal, July 21, 1763