The End

1 February 2016

We practiced wiping sweat from our necks. Every song reminds you of a person you once knew. Then the heat kicked on with much hissing and clangor. I had crafted a parasitic practice that transformed my paid labor into post-market froth. Was it a field or was it a city. I wanted to lie down at the edge. The breeze just before the train’s headlight appears. You were making yourself a foreign continent. Feeling around the blunt edges of history. But medieval women may not have been so submissive. Standing on the sidewalk surrounded by luggage. Do you worry about what happens to humor when language moves away from a body. Is this getting too repetitive I asked though I was not even halfway done. Made an argument about the congruence of Lancelots. The children. The children. The protective phone case bought a day too late. I’d promised someone today would end. But somehow we found ourselves in Queens. Falling behind in the assignments you’ve set for yourself. Preferring to repair rather than to replace. Your body is so seasonal. Jo said one was quiet and proper and one was a screaming wench. Fluffing the covers and turning on the fan. Trying a new stairwell but finding nothing nothing nothing. Here I will comment on the flexibility of the form. A model of the world or a model of the self. You were watching it all with your microscopic eye. Sometimes you slip back into 2007 for just a moment. Memory of a hotel bed & whatever the opposite of seduction might be. I was trying to get it all down into words. Movement had become a precondition for air circulation.

 


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