The Project of Linear Inquiry

[Let a be taken as . . .] a liquid line beneath the skin and b where the blue tiles meet body and the body’s bridge a seeming road here, endless rain pearling light chamber after chamber of dust-weighted air the project of seeing things so to speak, or things seen namely a hand, namely the logic of the hand holding a bell or clouded lens the vase perched impossibly near the edge obscuring the metal tines. She said “perhaps” then it echoed. I stood there torn felt hat in hand wondering what I had done to cause this dizziness “you must learn to live with.” It reveals no identifiable source (not anyway the same as a forest floor). A vagrant march time, car passes silently, arm rests at his side holding a bell or ground lens where c stands for inessential night – how that body would move vs how it actually does – too abstract &/or not abstract enough but a closed curve in either case she might repeat indicating the shallow eaves nothing but coats and scarves below the window his-her face canted to the left nothing imagined or imaginable dark and nothing actually begun so that the color becomes exactly as it was in the miniuscule word for it scribbled beside an arrow on the far wall perfectly how else continuous with memory. There are pomegranates on the table though they have been placed there salt, pepper, books and schedules all sharing the same error and measure of inattention. What she says rolls forward. I shouted toward motion, other gestured, child laughs, sky, traffic, photograph. I gave a real pain, expelled breath, decided. Both arms in thought, mirror otherwise, abandoned structures mostly, the glass door with its inscription lay open before us, nothing to fear.