it's a lowness matinee, the buzz breaks in the middle to catch breath, the sun throwing spring in handfuls. it's our season of surprise burning so we'll have to relearn us again. the sun presses us to make our bodies apparent but come on, bodies are over, can't we wisp beyond perception already? can't we retain sensation while passing through walls, while transferring us to condensation on the outside of walls then sliding down, while being drunk right up by something thirsty and carried into the woods. beloveds, we could become the piss of the forest already. we could sink in, stinking. no one would dare forget.
i study the color of yesterday's burn
and then i do a bruise survey to try to remember what days are. there's the little galaxy healing from center, blanking through yellow expanding outward. circle circle. i check my fastenings. i keep my feet under me while the tide throws my knots around. all balance tires, everything rolls. circle circle. i am too warm to feel so much and too cool to say what i mean. i've given myself ten minutes to come down like a stack of blocks, to feel my hard edges clack, chipping paint, colliding. once i've made me the lowest and most still, i do something. not stacking. not exactly building. i get one block up on its edge and then the others get up, get curious about new forms.
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