with false starts buzzing around my head what do I do do I recall one fly I cut in half with a glass while trying to trap and free it—then sculpt some little line to be stomped bloodless by the sound of boots on the ceiling—so do I then try to persist with this misty I and words like persist—but to speak plainly there is no window in which to speak plainly about a small flower past my boots that I wish could fly into colors that open a window into a land where I could lie…

but now I’m cut in half and half of me
may persist and maybe that I will fly

I tried to be two things but the paper kept curling and I couldn’t get a straight line so I decided to move to the next town where I met someone who reminded me of a girl I once knew whose name I never learned as we only ever joked about certain forbidden vegetables while we were in school together though it was more of a forced labor camp but when those ghostly blue flowers came again in the spring we were allowed a minute of silence to think of the photos we once had pinned up by our cots now long eaten by moths