It’s like mother made this.
It’s like mother was making it, and never really finished.
Mother wants it unfinished. She wants it indefinite. It’s all just trailing off, like ellipses.
Mother has barely bothered to make a world. This what’s before and after a world.
She doesn’t need to . She just wants to hear our voices. She just wants to set them in motion.
Mother wants our double act.
What’s she learning from us, do you think? What’s he listening to? What are you listening to, Mother? Will we surprise you, Mother? Will we surprise you with what we say?
It’s the rhythm of our talk that Mother wants to hear. It’s all in the rhythm.
Where are you, philosopher? Are you here? Are you here with me?
Are you lost in vagueness, too? Are you unable to think a thing?
Work in Progress 