for Patrick Durgin

Have you been changing your mandolin strings, I am eating artichokes, we want the chair to perform something, don’t think about big breakfast, the task at hand, close off confusing areas. Sight drawstring, screen door, bus stop, no seeming pull but tight, to be drawn, what remains, cold liquid, substance. Your exiting—how shaped through motion,
[in]animate tone in the eyes (set upon) sound (of noise) and color making. Not to be excessive but if so then only to topple efficiency on the counters. Ungraceful sailing down. Never to hand mind over. To perceive you then I want to try blocking the nose or neighborly baked goods but then spelling errors and reliving unbound in the body, collecting raw institutions where there mostly isn’t this mark of corresponding movement. Doors expectantly slam, flooding open, automobile, parking meter—we go shopping at the drug store—partially various disease, jackhammer, vulgar avenues. Let’s say we reach somewhere without loud noise citation, if I am to be afraid but am not, we’ll want to pick up this and let out the air there, yanking it along, not floating up we can fix this will and supposing that’s how we begin too, dragging away furniture.


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