CASPER
THE FRIENDLY GHOST
Sometimes an edge is a corner, in which case you do not fall off. Corners are achieved by urging one plane into another, then feeling slatted and fenced (fig. 1). The planes feel otherwise, each at its own tilt.
Sometimes an edge is a border, in which case you see more of the same, maybe rippling grass, but hear it calling to itself in another tongue. You can put your toe over. It may turn a different color, like from bala'ti to palavrata, or from pencil to ink. Music switches scales (fig. 2). Fish swim dorsal-down in that other hemisphere. Sometimes, given atmospheric change and mines, your toe explodes. Caution is advised. Pedicures are available. Nothing is forever cured by crossing fine lines.
Sometimes an edge takes to a table, in which case there are drips and crumbs and bellies pressed up close. Digestion is heard, also hunger (fig. 3), sometimes bookish crinkly thoughts, usually black on a cream ground, a smoothness pressed into texture. Elbows attend, indecisive, poise-or-plunge.
Sometimes an edge is rounded, as in the egg, in which case things fall off, such as the bloom first and foremost. The rounded edge is in dispute between the plane and arc, hence Archimedes' mediation these two thousand years, and Earth so far unmoved. This edge is incremental in its geometry, hazardous in sin (fig. 4), endlessly holding out the hope of a center.
Sometimes an edge is a border, in which case you see more of the same, maybe rippling grass, but hear it calling to itself in another tongue. You can put your toe over. It may turn a different color, like from bala'ti to palavrata, or from pencil to ink. Music switches scales (fig. 2). Fish swim dorsal-down in that other hemisphere. Sometimes, given atmospheric change and mines, your toe explodes. Caution is advised. Pedicures are available. Nothing is forever cured by crossing fine lines.
Sometimes an edge takes to a table, in which case there are drips and crumbs and bellies pressed up close. Digestion is heard, also hunger (fig. 3), sometimes bookish crinkly thoughts, usually black on a cream ground, a smoothness pressed into texture. Elbows attend, indecisive, poise-or-plunge.
Sometimes an edge is rounded, as in the egg, in which case things fall off, such as the bloom first and foremost. The rounded edge is in dispute between the plane and arc, hence Archimedes' mediation these two thousand years, and Earth so far unmoved. This edge is incremental in its geometry, hazardous in sin (fig. 4), endlessly holding out the hope of a center.