Maybe the page is stupid.
But it doesn’t have to be
that way. Let’s try
it a
different way. I sit
and
think through the slats
of the blinds for a few
hours. Open-ended
is the new panic. I’m
even starting to get
abstract. I mean
understand it (I am
wholly concrete).
Those are stupen-
dous lines for a
twenty-three year
old. After which
I hide my face in
shame. I’m on
the dancefloor
dancing, though.
There is no shame.
There are no rolling
eyes. Only ambition.
When I woke up I
realized that I had
left it on all night.
