Sound archeology—the relationship of ululating to echo
155e001>What he didn’t say to her in recognition is what he did not recognize himself. Slowly the air whipped in argumentation.155e001> Sword of Damocles. 155e002>Two sides to every story. He said you are not listening. She replied you are always talking.155e002> 155e003>Last night, he responds, I dreamt an egg cracked open—your saber-toothed sweater was inside, unthreading itself in tendrils—weaving through sewers’ grills.155e003> 155e004>Water began to pour from the sky. It rained, she asked. Yes, it rained.155e004> 155e005>He recalled the owl blinking back at him the day before at the zoo.155e005> 155e006>Petite sauvage, she puled. Jesus, he said. Not really leapt, but leaned back.155e006> 155e007>Electricity buzzed underneath his cap. “Mother,” he breathes. The tree is a tower to the sky;155e007> if he was smaller he’d climb it now to almost autumn light, the Manhattan skyline, filled with the buildings’ flight.
155e008>The bird lands the first time he speaks the word. It lands on his head. He stops. The bird moves to his hand.155e008> 155e009>Architecture aside, the present ghostly matters.155e009>