You go to a restaurant and you eat a meal and you choke and die. It happens like

that. You feel horny and you visit a sauna, get careless, and you catch AIDS and die.

     You open a

present while straphanging on a tram, miss your stop, get off in a hurry, don’t notice

a truck, get hit and die. Or you breathe the mould of your own body for a lifetime,

day after silent day, and you turn white and die. Or you open your hand and the

lines suddenly go walking off in different directions over the edges of the world and

this puzzles you and you can’t understand it and out of such perplexity you die.

One day the face of the sunflower deity is splattered on the bedsheets and you

grow prickly and are never visited by the bees that carry sweetness in their thighs

and from the hunger for their soft release you die.You construct a house of stone

underneath a well of pure skywater and there you bring the pillars of every deity

and the offerings for every cult and you crush flowers and the tiny hands of the

newborn dead and, forgetting how substanceless is sacred food and ritual water,

you reincarnate as gesture without body and die.
On a Saturday during the football on an airplane over Antarctica in galoshes in a

business suit on the holiday of a lifetime tomorrow and yesterday after five minutes

of thinking and a decade of acceptance passionlessly as oxygen from a mask in

this room which has grown as small as a child’s crib you open your mouth to all that

exits and all that rushes in and wanting so much to speak you start to mime the

opening of a word

and you begin to understand

how the silence that fills you and the passion for words that overflows

is your own private and chaotic death.