This was inspired by our discussion about what to call poems, DVS' sardines :-)) (thank you) and some poem generator websites that are so bad they are really good inspiration!
The can with spout and the serpentine hose conjure thoughts of flammable liquid fuel in a state of dangerous volatility, static at the moment but anything might happen, and these thoughts are slightly unsettling -- but perhaps this is always the way with nouns?On the other hand, the thought of this potentially volatile state is counteracted by the thought of certain actions -- to like, to love, to want, to care -- and this thought reminds us that nothing stays the same for very long, something will always come along to pick it up and move it on along to the next place -- and is this not after all the proper job of those busy necessary workers, the verbs?And/but over and above these thoughts of states and actions and as if in defiance of the pain that inhabits all sectors of the material world (bleeding, throwing up, experiencing fear) there is another thing, a kind of ambient affect which hangs wordlessly in the air as a beckoning destination beyond the lovely hinted promises (soul, heart, body, Kitty, polka dotted pajamas).It doesn't (yet) have a name, this mysterious other thing. But it is, definitely, or anyway very probably, something you like.
Thank you Tom, as usual you just got it. That yet unnamed state between potentially volatile (up there, light, unattainable, flammable) and the ground (heavy, painful, down here, stable). Destination unknown.