Stall

Collapsed in the gallery midway through. So much hustle, differences, conclusions, rests. I thought of the stare, matched it to the serpentine walkway, portraits. Outside the icicles clutched the awning in a feverish embrace below the illegible sign beside the café. Stuff within a promontory, absent inspiration, feint residue, light and leisurely, long time, emitting scant drops of moisture, drip drip. In there but not, locked up too securely to transcend, it isn't easy. Still life, signifiers, lamplight. It'll be good, great, in the end, it must be cold sitting by that shop, the wheels on the bus slished through the snow, scaffolding blocking the bustle, the memory, the chance, briefly shook things up the next day, spunky, jovial, spitfire, from years ago.