Untitled, n = 570

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I see the white letters spelled out on a field,
their size and density make them tools I can wield.
plain an unadorned, because less is most
they imprint my mind like each was a ghost.
They change on the sign as they slide in my mind,
like pieces from a puzzle with no matches to find.
When they come together they form a smooth path,
like the arcane symbols of lost logic and math.
Thus the letters are transformed by fluid functions,
hop-scotching the word to become an injunction.
But there's a sheen over this which can only mislead,
how can I know logic when I just learned to read?

n = 570; May 30th, 2016.


This is a really vivid memory of the first word I ever read, which was the word "stop" on this stop sign. I remember my sister telling me that I wasn't really reading the sign, I just knew it was a stop sign. The vividness of this memory makes me question it, as I think I have layered other ideas on top of it.

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