Description
Excerpt
AS IF A MAN SPLITS into a very old bone and dwells in
it, and when he passes that bone’s shadow it’s like nothing-
else. Then he goes to his plate and draws pictures of bitten
words.
And we clearly like this way of doing things.
Still, we could go days without being in our bodies and
then a little man would come naked and take us up to his
fifth-floor apartment and feed us pharmacological
pancakes.
Those were the days before the asylum, when we sheltered
ourselves with floorboards, and I dreamt I was floating
through Kentucky, and all my birds were as unrecognizable
as the kitchen sink.
You were all burning yourselves on the outskirts of some
town, feeling very alone, and quoting the greatest historical
figures of our time.
I saw an industrial landscape and reenacted a scene from
my early childhood disembodiment: imagine a municipal
airport, an old-fashioned bird, and technology.
That was the year we were so haunted we couldn’t even
look at a modern building without hallucinating bathroom
mirrors.
It was fine though, to live that way.
