i broke my phone

It is time to rethink philosophies.

the books that perch the shelves like scarecrows,

their massive jackets enlightening dust,

collected to warn visitors to kneel,

are suited to be resumed from sleeping

and replace in dialogues distant friends.

it is when the object is no more that

it comes to life, says Heidegger as he

presents essence through the broken hammer.

Thus while in isolation, sheltered tight

form the air that carries sorrow with touch,

doesn't the mere idea of an outside

seem an object to be contended with,

at the disposal of longing only

to expand the forbidden transgression?

and then when by sudden inconvenience

the home lethargy is forcedly paused,

the sounds and lights that were common greetings

through streets prepared for satisfying needs

declare with absent treats the present crack,

that routine has become broken compass:

the mindless gestures ordering days,

that the raw sensing of repetitions

allowed to emerge in flashing creations

with the impression of rewards waiting,

cannot be reached by means of empty streets,

and behind the numbest of errands calls

the delicacy that leveled it plain.

(including the dread, Kierkegaard adds, and

the spirit of history, That's Hegel)

the good old times! nothing ever happened

but seemed possible to believe it might:

foods and other goods, once mindlessly bought,

repairing furniture, or phone or glass,

the visit to pubs and dumb laughs with friends,

duties bland in their most earned distraction,

no worth any thought when consumption was

as affordable as replacing each,

become pearls that shine their uniqueness

reflecting a borrowed glow from the seas

that withdrew after a drop of their noise.

what was then that had required no notice

that now has exhausted all temperance

with the mourn of its silent departure?

objects are whole by jointed assemblage;

each completes the next, says Deleuze,

and when one crumbles, the world is in mourn.

then Shakespeare in echoing Anthony

"now all labors mars what it does" which is

when actions expose their inner turmoil,

attempts awaken the dormant furies,

performance that shatters the temple's peace,

and the significance of the world unfolds

by denying habits their handy control.

Better than virological decree

spaces regulate the influence of

their metrics spreading, meeting with desires

by degrees of resistance that permit,

or not, to lead a moment to the next.

thus when the rush modeling obstacles

encounters the limits of the place will

through funneled displacements is heard

the hisses of calibrating frictions:

not by gearing escapes to entrance,

and equate needs with allowance to pass,

that the solid geometries continue

in harmonies of fluid pursuit; but

by the meek prayer to be kindly let on

by the meek prayer to be kindly let on

in routines that collects nods to motion

And gathers memories and monuments

while discovering the sudden pleasure

of breaking schedules and led to digress,

running for fallacies and contraries,

each one more enticing than the previous,

through streets that drees welcomes to mysteries

as spaces open for wonder only.

Thus thinking shakes some rust consistency,

From the leafing of books again shut down,

but doesn't affect  the reeking of weathers

that passes on believes in constant pomp

latching joys to decay on bleached windows,

for the hope that life once constipated

is taking its leave from reclused patterns.