an incongruence of traction
and when winter finally arrives, i find myself lost on Midnight Road, slouching towards a certain lack of momentum, a special kind of perceptual loss thrashing not too far off, and curiously enough gaining in traction what it lacks in congruence, a different page for a different turn, cornering the motions as if we were all called here today. there are several ways to leave the corner of Midnight and Moonless, but not one of them is accessible from where we stand and watch as it calmly evaporates before our eyes. the laughter caught us by surprise, and later, when it was just us delaying our escape, there was more history between all of us than we'd come to expect, than what we were willing to concede to one another. as usual, a closing concession.