approaching greyscale
this blurred journey
slips
down streets
not only nameless but
soundless, dislocated

all the rhythms are abbreviated–
throbbing, stagnating
in a silent cinematic slow motion–
a composite of fragments
neither awake nor asleep–
a perpetual absence
of who
what when where
why

For dVerse, where Linda has given us the quadrille word of slip, and earthweal, where Brendan asks, “What comes next?”