I stepped on every single crack in the morning, today. I went
to unparalleled pains to look for minuscule spaces where the ground was
splitting. Unlucky, I heard, were the cracks in the pavement. So I let my toes
touch as many as I could find on my way here.
The Effects had all already taken place. I decided I might
as well bring onto being the Causes. The whole debacle reversed and flipped.
We’ve all spent our lives chasing pavements. From one end of
a Tuesday 2 am to the other end of a yellow sweater day. Running on and to and
from the same fissured surface with a thousand deceitful names: a different one
for each time. Blocks of broken asphalt stepping in on behalf of the cuckoo
clock as euphemisms for our years and seconds. Mirror-images of our splintered contours:
dipped and flawed and rifted. But still standing solid. Trailing gapped ground,
our resounding footsteps becoming periodic heartbeats. Collecting our fading
echoes and panting from the effort of it, these walk-ways lying stationary and
watching us scamper along. Chasing pavements day in and day out. Chasing the
gray cracks in everything.
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