Thursday 2/26/2009 12:45:00 AM

The man in the green hat. He always walked slower than all the rest. The world just an object. To be manipulated. Time more question than fact.

Stones roiling underfoot. Tender toes bitten. Chewed. The atheist in the garden. His pen out of ink. Not enough eve's. Nor enough adam's. To go back.

Stitch the faces back onto those puppets. Flirting with other dimensions. The bald dramas often mistaken for chance. Exuberant dances on the shoulders of if. We can go back.

Take these pockets of time in its fist and clench. All the little things. The islands obscured. By madmen with gods in their crotches

The man in the green hat. Chasing the darkness. As if it would matter. If he could catch it.

The apple that started this war. As rotten as those who have perpetuated it.

The man in the green hat doesn't say where he's going. But it's obvious to me. He's saving his time machine for when the last apple has fallen from the tree.

I try on his hat. Spindles of skin. Move too quickly. And together we laugh. At the whole preposterous idea. That anyone can be saved.

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