The light lasts into everything
Bare ruined wires where late et cetera: too *smirk* simple

a substitution. Once upon, the grey machines we dreamed

(o orange glow!) were happy & made us so, no. Really. Dis-

mantled with a hammer yr VCR yr diskette (non standard)

yr tomb for the unknown camera. What country, friends,

where analogue means proceed by metaphor, (dis)simulation,

illusion; and digital, by hand. An exchange, sweet birds,

subject to defoliation. Twilight of such (or say, second life)

such fire, red standby – nod, wink – an unfading sunset.
The Scots form obsolute apparently arose by confusion with absolute
False as etymology: so they say. The machine that dreamed

us was well-made, with hope & kindness, even. Sweet bird

of power: when it flies out, we move through skin, a scribble

heatseeking. It should be over now, older than, old as, safe

as. Back it up &. Remains remain &. We. As species, assimilate,

this gift for saying goodbye. End without world, (new or else),

as wild hope, koan left behind in the ticket machine & now settled

beneath my debit card: VOID VOID VOID VOID. Open hands I

– icchantikas – long not to long for. But, but we bear enmeshment.
Another child of silence
Let go. To be/to not: equally problematic. All the violence bird

caged in me in bone in this this strike at. Leaves a. Is similar

to itself in all iterations, similarises, mimetic. Pain’s a settler

beating pathways, cigarette-cherry alleys in the brain after sunset

don’t go there. Down there. That ride I’ve not thumbed long since

w/ all my girl fears that have no expiration. White stucco safe

deposit box in which I store; Nora this and Nora that, birdhands

remote controlled, unchiasmatic. We are incompatible, system

so crude & yet. W/ my quiver of needles, I’ll take that outside-in.
Together with you the chaos makes sense
Why why does she call the nights “wild”? & twice. Militant/simile,

insistent, exclamatory. See leaves rattling the polite white settlement

window, no nuits fauves: incommensurate obliterations. Sent letters,

her grammar granular, sublunary, just a little sugar, that biscuit

that will bite the hand. Void in my mouth, ejecta, named meshuga

showing strange faith in speech acts. Not your Rilkean ersatz elseher,

yr surplus unplugged cunt, “redundant female artefact,” system

down, hanging blankly from the socket. Will this unplayed dead

do? Do hang: bare ruined wires a frayed. & so I put my trust in end.
*
The first, third and fourth stanza headers are misreadings, or mishearings, of lines from

(respectively): Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby; Jacqueline Rose, Women in Dark Times

and Maja Borg, Future My Love.