Sometimes

noone forgets. she forgets who she is; where she is; and how she got here, or there. on those days (those are the days made up out of air), she tells me to think about noone -- any noone -- so she can become more, or less than, what she is. but today noone is just a name. a name that reflects upon itself at mid-day.

i'm not thinking of noone.

and i said

to noone myself one day, what is it about the gray line between sky and earth that calls you forward?

and why do you think you want to be a lower case mind? or do you think at all? do you think, and if so, do you consider the value of punctuation?

are all the ?s worth the effort of reaching downward with your right pinky while stoking , stroking a shift?

how do you wonder about the shift; how it lifts on a line.

it's been a long time, longer than a wire line stretched between two poles.

what will you do? abandon punctuation? give up the questions? release the shift and swell?

another day?

asknoone

and no one will ask you. who will know no one and no one will know.

One day.