Imprint

or original? When does the beginning beget originality? Quest for a question that takes simple verbs and demolishes all but the whisp of relations. Vector-land takes after flatland, while dashing dimensional hopes. Plagues are wages for tiny lives, paid out like founders’ shares: high and unbreakable, unless the whole ship stinks. Expect and confess — assumed names are spoken before they are known, revelations of futures in which certitude hides in the bushes, along with all those pairs of birds. Hands carry tools and looks for paper reams, cream for caffeine, vessels for airborne castles, and what they make will shake when the earth does, even as each knuckle deprives each mountain of a crack at the first mover advantage.