Perseus and Medusa 2

The image is of the people in their kinetics, and only trompe l’oeil that they always oppose, that Perseus must go contraflow every day of his being.
Their Brownian motions, tracks as noodles on a plate, all’onda as a bowl of risotto,
The image is of one in a multitude, quickly then slowly, smoothly, the crowd’s interstices are taken in changes, none allowed to flourish long — so perishes the vacuum,
Perseus slipping between his chances, his obligations, his happenstances, a lizard that finds good crevice.
In the vision’s grasp, only bitten chunks of him,
And none could truly say of seeing him.
So, his cap of darkness: before they strike, the assassin is unknown.
—Let us genuflect and worship her, he says.
And Perseus laughs with half his mouth, seeing her fitness to the situation and knowing.

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