The unit of human noise is a bazaar likewise matches are blown from a windowsill the complication bred mistakes even before it became this complicated little errors like love returned to and is hollow and empty yet there is still the noise the damned noise from the street the streets an avenue that is an ocean but in the middle of land why say dry land there is no coast there are no beaches no places to get off no reflection or edge shadows may bend about at right angles sure, though, there are bits of mirrors you might see two objects reflected your face someone else's smile but it is spread out there are no corners for calendars only a dizzying shimmer here. so there are no days and day-ends, no horizons that are constant and my head slips with the weather and the sentiment of the noise . and there are ghosts there is not that tide that meets change or resistance no glass balls from ]apanese fishing fleets to hit rocks or beachcombers no shore activities, congress of old faces old places here in the middle these hang on like the rain. The ocean is too large to ever become a polluted, overfamiliar scene unless rocks are exposed here and there and hang on to cultures for a few thousand years and therein lies our difficulties. You and I have drunk from the same coke bottle the same important echo source so many times been battered about cruelly and recognized it wanted to get off for something new or throw old things over a shoulder but the commerce is done to us. we are old nouns, nouns that follow sentence order, acted upon, nursed. There is no pride to be had in that constant act.   She brings me water and acts familiar is a comfort to the photographer and I am fully bored and mounted from afar as postcards; reputation and wealth are the negative there will be relief from the posing of our heads when we are spread thin like only the most familiar mountains and then may die going about business as ordained by life. Is my life indeed that which is slowing progress are old ideas saluted and posed for like whores that have become over the years free the act so familiar the tides outlast the moon ?