the that fact
the it was
the were

attempting again proximity with the dead as though they stay in place unmoved stop
as though I could measure closeness if I scratched it with tiny marks stop
opened again the fine pleating that opening each time damages stop

as if it were a stranger’s hand my hand again replaying the reaching out it failed to do stop
gauging the weight of each inherited object ignoring the object itself stop
dwelling increasingly on the floor between memory and involuntarily pushing memory away stop

a few darknesses are inward a few are outward pointing branches in a stand of poplars stop
reason can’t bring over something on the verge of real but unwilling to become it stop
I can paint any blue on a ceiling and none on the sky please advise

Must see and not see
Must not see nothing
Burrow and so burrow
Measuring mastering

One of our cats, the apricot-colored one, is sleeping in the computer as I write this. He doesn’t give a shit one way or the other. As long as the machine stays warm.

I think that then the burning herd
Will turn and follow me towards you
Like unicorns.

Don’t worry I will tell you everything.

“Listen Bird, why do we have to sit here dying
in a half-furnished room? [...]“