15h33

Dark, dusk, dawn again. 
, dawn agai 
d u sk 

111 days no clock, no musi c 
/ no sunrise \ / no sun set \ 
no change in temperature from 48.1 degrees. 

No way to tell 
if it is morning 
or night above on the surface of the earth. 

You and I “we are almost 
the same age…” 

and since 
I have imagined you with so many different faces 

going in so many different directions — 

(...) 

glistening and scrupulous 
I go about my day 

an apple pip waking to a warm 
and lonely room 

each little hello tearing a rip 
in the fabric of sleep — 

of thought 
of desire 

(— a furnace where there 
was once Utopia 

where butterflies 
now move with ease) 

“I suspect there might be a leak,” 
gasped one man to another in 
the understaffed oxygen factory —

outside, little spaghetti o’s 
fall softly 

from the sky : like oozy hours : or wet curls framing a beautiful face 

(I thought you said you 
‍ ‍had somewhere to be?) 

to this day we refuse to stand under any streetlight : 
see better in the dark 
than any 
illumination 
/ fuck your vision, men flung 

into solar = system = constellations 
their state extravagant sobs 
still heard in echoes )))) 
by those of us left below earth (stuck on all fours crawling on the
encrusted tiled kitchen floor) 

no longer the same age 
my mouth still 
sticky and shadowed 

still searching 
for the light 

(of thought) 
(of desire) 

yet this
feeling is yours. this spine is yours. this flock
of birds is yours is yours is 

I’ll pass, thanks

Santa Monica 
for M 

Dribbled clay 
snatched in moments from the holes burrowing 
into the sides of sprawling marram 
we watched the rat scurry over the dunes and into the sea — 
it was just I who heard (hear, 
hearing, still now) 
the outside world’s thunder 
its crude enveloping 
call of 
reasons!, everyone always asking for a reason — 
why can’t I just know from direct divine thinking? 
(intervention) 
why can’t it just be straight from the source? 
(I myself am interrupting the source 
am the interruption 
am myself) 

no reasoning or rhyme or explanation 
required, about it. 

Deep inside the fields there opens up streets, doppelgänger streets, echo streets,
who haunt the doubled reason; simultaneously taking an elevator in the new hotels,
billowing darkness, the sea, adjacent to the coast. 

You said you liked the sodden ditches, 
and the yellow gorse 
spiralling on the hard shoulder — 
the scavengers, peddlers and shoplifters oozing out from the village shop.
I didn’t care if you were here for the right reasons or not. 
In the new hotels the elevators are often so dark. 

After a long time of nothing the sea swept it all away — the babies in their cots,
citizens sleeping in their matching 
patterned pajamas (all these years later 
it’s still unclear whether she loved 
or hated her prefab), the butterflies beating rapidly 
in their glass domes

— tore up houses right down from their foundations 
and dragged them into the sea. 

It’s too dark to see out yet I can’t find 
my reflection either. I love the evenings near the new hotels, which I have never seen.
We puzzled at irregular intervals 
to meet our basic necessities: 
hunger, thirst, bowels, bladder, sex, sleep, etc / our fear was the organ of perception

overnight a whole village became extinct. 

I didn’t exactly lose consciousness, it was just a moment — a moment,
a moment where the sea broke open the streets and scared me into explanation.
You always said you had too much fear to swim, 
although you tried to call it respect. 
Still I tried to _____, I _____ and I _____. I told you I came here
to get away from the world 
not to replicate it — 
while the bluish trees hung their silences on the horizon. The world was dark, it gave off
a reddish tint, it smelt like burning, smooth like tarmac. There was little light or feeling
or even reason to reflect. 

After all had happened we lit a candle in the darkness 
only once it was extinguished could we begin to see.