Sunday, May 15, 2016


Please Inhale Deeply Before The Next Section Ends

Or Something Happened.  On either the day before-
hand or seventeen years ago.  On the other hand,
our night before, I just don’t know.  Ask me again
sometime.  Oh.  On the night before, our I do.  But
I do doesn’t remember (therefore, I don’t).  Realiz-
that this is such child’s play, I decide to make an
entire career out of it.  A lifetime career, so to speak
or write.  A lifetime, just to cut it short (despite its
length [which is always long, relatively speaking]).  
So, I make a career out of this, which is nothing 
at all.  It’s so very easy.  I just close my eyes as if 
all of it happens.  And even though it takes forev-
(cf., “relatively speaking”), we wonder if any of it ever
happened.   Or if we made it all up.  And if we are to
(eventually, or perhaps inevitably) discover that we’v-
made it all up, does it go about happening nonetheless?

Like the light of the neon sign from the hotel dire-
ctly across the street from our apart-, the light 
that burns into our closed eyes each night, be-
aming through the bedroom window and 
down onto the us, onto the bed I just now 
made up for you; over us, lying incessantly 
atop our be-, in the bedroom of the apart-
building in which we sleep and(/or, as proof 
would suggest,) we have slept and slept.
Over the bed I made up just now.  For 
you (and for you alone), we await a sign,
each in our respective place (which is not
lying and is not on the aforementioned bed)
that burns into our closed eyes.  At night.