2.

“what do you do when something loves you? do you love it back? I'm volatile.”

I’ve got nothing, I show him, but notes like this; each one parched out later, gutted by time travel, tornado worship, something called “the myth becomes” and I get nothing done. they don’t believe me but I amounted to nothing and I show them sweeping my hand over an obscured history but no real success. laugh, undaunted usually and also breezy. I like smiling. composition open pointing to one sentence I like watching time.

I’m obsessed with unproducing, or burning a process as you watch it unfurl. it’s like setting the bottom of each trunk on slow fire and then you climb to the top ofthe pine watching it engulf you

then eviscerate whatever you were.

I am up by dawn, or close to it,  thinking this is what true love is doing and I’ve done this before; proving habit, and the deep deep null of feeling that I really possess daily, filled with plotting and idle time,a rumination of these invidious encounters. something always in my hand. something always tinctured, distilling and then wanting you to see it: my nullness and overreaction and courting that must befacade or instinct or vexing but mold it into something better than the ice cold well I am. palms open in please. that’s where people fall. the snow bank in the bottom of the frozen hole trying to help the little girl. I think a lot, I say softly. and I like learning words.

point to one.

duplicity

“the act of naming things”