My eyes burn from that screen and the brilliance they seek why do you smirk when I say that like you’ve never let the air out of someone’s balloon just to see and yes my arms are asleep again but it’s the third night in a row hearing that strange rondel in the woods and though we try to ignore it there’s something familiar if not quite comforting there like when you can finally take off those wet clothes close the door and sit down to a nice hot cup of what it would be like to finally start that immense project on the sea floor

. [pauses to examine a small blood-smeared stack of index cards]

the rumble of dump trucks recycle part of the dream where I rush into the heart of this subterranean distillery because my feet are cold no matter what my ears itch where I can’t scratch I wonder why they say snow is coming it’s always the case so what do we do if the insects really are gone is there a new equilibrium for this house of cards all this time growing smaller and needing reading glasses to see what my hands are up to but these different wails who might be butchered for their oils and in the end the meat washed out to sea but you don’t need me to tell you

. [drinking a small glass of green liquid that smells vaguely of bandages]

those stale dreams discarding seeds into my nest if I try to remember to remember by dawn when I will find a pen that can stand the weight this season nearly over so how small can you make yourself when the new fall lineup means sure destruction for the likes of us who never knew the touch of an industrial mother or even a decent chocolate chip cookie though with this small and responsible lunch I’ll speed my way past new apartment’s skeleton frames and these tiny parks built for squirrels and what is this cramp in my hand has the timer ended and I missed it or hasn’t any of it started yet

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