The word is open-echo a double-split remembrance in cause and effect that pulls things through or up by a yank or a hawk, not the bird, but the decisions which come for the past who’s future’s present has happened for reasons the future will hold against the grain which has grown through a quilt weaved with a colorfull network of skin and fabric that have been sewn together with a clear string that came from under the nail like the build-up from scratching a soft heel, dead wheel walk healthy step tripping into the puddle whose reflection was lost with the stomp before it which had the false rainbow of oil anyway that also has a future but one of pollution and probable shopping bags carelessly thrown and full-piped quickly with the city seagull scrapers and wind-alley rust- escapes rarely used but handy like the man hole which twirls with the roar of mythylogical loaves, loaves of “yeasty cities” since we yes we “poisoned the river” with a newly propelled steam boat made of all the picket fences left for dead at an auction along with Van Gogh’s trousers which sold for cool millions extracted from the pocket of pockets pocketed hence picked like a pooker plum-thumbed pie purple dye mouth corner build-up in the race on the picnic bench – this is NATURE CAMP read the banner who’s cracking whips outdid the flag for our country hung backwards and coil-bound to the flag pole along with those of Uqbar, Orbis Tertius, and Tln… “these colors are amazing” and flash with the lightning of pressed eyeballs rolling temples winding nuckles snapping elbows hunching shoulders falling follicles biting cuticles launching spores duo O’keef(er) thick cherry cultures that will not really quench the thirst one has for sweet teeth gaping in the wind with the flags that make cherry pits feel more like beebees to squirrels to cherry patch to the chain NATURE CHAIN gang as in a drive-by by blue and red berrries from above are their size, strange fruit strange pits and the power plant of growth whose roots wrap themselves around the lotus posture of the child who took too long to get out of the sand box when the cow bell was struck as dinner stuck to the roof of the mouthes smacking the peanut butter rat traps that snap African snaps with the chapped fingers of the hunting splinter speared heat of the speeding release of a skill stick that will pierce on all fours the flesh for the family of four on the floor of the earth by the fire that will never last, the wind is too strong, the drops are too big, the locusts are dense, mountains mean large red waves of drops croaking in the air and humming lower than the flies which stuck to the meat of the wounded child who could not see for the darkness loomed like a large sore like a large moon to the large planet speck of ants that never leave the ground, forming chains of chains and travelling with the heavy eggs which will mean it is time for a bridge and so they chain a little more and duple their weight in weeds which get picked hallucinogenically by the brown tweezers of life that snap little signs of words which open the word which is now open.