It was easy to turn around and see their stillness; it was impossible to catch them in motion. We were all expected to be in motion because that was how time moved and how success was measured: you were getting on an airplane, you were walking the streets of a city, you were meeting people in a bar, signing your name to things, you were racing through the night with your care and your use, presenting yourself to others, to another, everybody reading each other’s quick views—this is how I work, this is what I do—then walking off together. There was a lot of movement inside of something not moving. Inside the body waiting for the world was something radiant and silent.

When we read literature / we read the budget / of the Mexican army // When we perceive artworks / we perceive the budget / of the Mexican army

We knew there were people with us / dreaming inside the stones / who left our mouths as horses stroked     with the light

the steps up to heaven were sweating with ideas

my mother’s syncopic incapacity / to convey the fullness of a threat

some things, once said, can never be taken back, and by heeding / these emanations the undead navigate an expanse of featureless terrain / to slake themselves on pity at its spring // even belaboring this list     the insipid approach of endings

Let this begin, precipitously disturbed. There: its only alternative now is to continue, which is to say: there’s no real alternative at all. Skepticism—doubt: it can prove liberating: SKEPTICISM, says the motto, WILL KEEP YOU FREE. But it can lead to a sense of hopelessness, impossibility; it can seem to promise nothing but dead ends and fatigue: SKEPTICISM WILL EXHAUST YOU. Ergo, says the logician, freedom is exhausting.

digress :: journey to the bottom /of Bear Mountain Park’s tidal pool :: between wormholes / a girl is dancing w/ her eyes closed beneath mechanical surf / which way is up :: distancing downward :: is there any ooze /  that might ignite another reactionary freeze?

The feeling / Of / sinking // The ridiculous and / messy; the slow drip into / The other // (read either) / preening sighing, / emotional wallops / and manly grins / as if / somehow / through it all / Funk Flex was transference