i love how with poetry you can begin at reading backwards,
not that there's an actual epilogue,
but that you can attach yourself to the winding serpent
of narration at any time, on any if not at each verse,
that in poetry there's no newton to mind: no causality
of pre- or post-, but the mediation of the ultimate
relativism, where time is discarded as what is itemised
for division, and where space is discarded likewise:
but in addition given the multiplier of heaven above
this earth, and hell... beneath it.

i love the nights in winter,
the trees look like skeletons,
or like lung alveoli,
or like brain synapses,
which is why i love cats,
you can simply ignore them,
leave them be,
with dogs there's too much attachment,
the walks, the leash, the play dead bits,
i ignore cats, until they wake and
stop ignoring me... waiting for food...
i like that, perfected petting i dare say...
indeed me alone in the park, how loved up
i became...
it was like the end of the world...
the shadows, the night, the moon, the loneliness
that became full testifying
the type of genius that acknowledges the active
ingredient of solipsism...
of course i'd life a wife... of course i would...
but i'd be bored with all the talk
and no canine proof of silence...
there i go again... watching a cat abstract
meow into momentum and meaning...
with man's inability to abstract...
indeed although i did argue with sartre
i agree with him about existence pre dating
essence, for example love...
the existence is an institutionalised coercion,
the essence if fiction via cinderella,
essentially our existence if biased rather than based
on fiction, the cold winters defeat our biases and base
us on the ridiculous need to wear fur coats
and become vegetarian out of consideration.
indeed... existence does prevail first,
but its per se seeks an essence under the bingo
structure of buckled under *what if,
and as such it's clearly avoiding the pressing matters
of what defines continuum:
but alongside the modern woman i feel abashed
to think this: it's not worth it...
the law is in her favour... the social expectations are in mine,
she can forge a forgetfulness equal to my disengagement,
and we can proceed into modernity, critical
of islamic nostalgia reminiscent of the medieval period
of our cared for 10,000 years... when
the vanity of thinking was reduced to a paper aeroplane
thrown across a classroom, which you would never
deem necessary in papyrus form due to scarceness.