Wow!

We see a Firestone

see how it stays.

It’s thoughts are secret-whispers

to it’s facts.

                       A speech act!

It writes them down in others-

a mirror

a Mobius-strip.

‘It’s not half the story by half’

it says

with air

intoned as prayer is.

Stores as an appendix to memory

as though it were cutting for bone.



This is a Firestone

see how now it stays

and sets

congeals as blood does-

tortuous as a main-frame.

It sprouts from the ground

as backward-lightning might

and sings

songs

as the first

with an eye did-

calls itself a Soviet

and other such things



Look

the Firestone

gaze at it’s scale

bold as an advert

a storm-cloud

it warps the summer-sky

and cries

“This is the Firestone-

all data is stored...”

then fell

as loud as weighted thunder would

slipped

till it was zipped

in a match-stick.



Lit once more

it peeps

out

some heat

until it slips to wisps

on the wind

hardly a shadow

the ghost of a petal of a flower.

Then whispers once

as humble as nuance

“...there is nothing here

but words and wonder.”

and persuades itself away.