— PLATE CXIII —
made. What is prim is most pronounced in the making so do not wear it out, it is not done yet and I can
— PLATE CXIV —
still enjoy this shape, longingly reminding me of a plan i hatched in complete stillness. That I could only
— PLATE CXV —
dream, with you alongside me. Lob along, brine is not so sweet trailed on the open wound. Do not find
— PLATE CXVI —
me looking at you looking. Keep on shining, i cannot stress this enough. And when repetition becomes
— PLATE CXVII —
solely present, when the layers mount a solid front, how to greet poorly, and invite to leave. Confuse an
— PLATE CXVIII —
accident. Cloth is weighed down when it is drowned. What I remember at least. That short way you
— PLATE CXIX —
have. That concussion I can recall only barely. That year gone. What I suspect of you then that you
— PLATE CXX —
allow to go quiet. What is it you want to avoid? what passes by as something else. When do i get to stop?
— PLATE CXXI —
I am not done I think. That that is left alone will grow wild - and order is mine to keep. That I may run
— PLATE CXXII —
out breath - which i will find again - and having learned what absence is I will not have lungs to blame, if
— PLATE CXXIII —
when I rub away the flaying stride I will accost another to find that which has left. Hope then that you
— PLATE CXXIV —
were the one that stayed. That you were nothing at all. That you could be the wisest if only you were to
— PLATE CXXV —
disappear and not mention me by name, call out to no one, not attempt to find meaning in any of it.
— PLATE CXXVI —
Allow me. It mounts itself. Holding on tight to reins in the shape of its hair. Pressing its own sides. It
— PLATE CXXVII —
trips and stumbles at great speed. Hoisting by the hoofs of some familiar limbs. This is what impatience
— PLATE CXXVIII —
feels like. This is where a hurry gets you. And it plants itself firmly into deep corners until it becomes
