The End

1 February 2016

The year when all I read about was what it would take for the Gulf Stream to shut down. You know how the day will end if the computer isn’t off by eleven. Becoming an ambassador of efficiency techniques. Holding it in. Whatever it is. Your posture veering away on the subway. The job that left you always at a deficit and the anger that moved around inside you while you did it. The process of writing is mostly a process of ego inflation and deflation. Psychic breathing. The way the sky is invisible from my living room window. You checked off the boxes that proved you were or could be ok. Some electrical hum. Debris on the stairs. How to count the number of trains you’ll need at the beginning of the week. How to make a small economy. The pit of my stomach when I bought the health insurance. Three thousand two hundred and four dollars. A disagreement about whether saving money or paying debts comes first. What it would mean to resist the economies that threaten via withheld promises. How credit means character and who gets to have either. Car horns from outside the school or the gas station. Waking up into the conditions of shortage after the storm. I grew up with money and then I guess walked away. Sometimes when I think of the future all I can see is ocean. Dead zone in the Pacific. The Atlantic’s trail of bodies and those bodies in history that crossed Earth’s oceans breathing the open air. The difficulty of talking about conditions not feelings. Woke up like this. Looking for the dust cloth to give my hands something to do. The line between a performance and a service. How ten years passed without leaving a mark. The only motion today will be across this room.

 


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