if there is a will
there is a was -

and if there is one of those,
there is a still,

and so they'll go wherever they will, now won't they?

but
here on Buridan's bridge
I've been standing so long
I've grown into it

like a lone flake of verdigris

here on Buridan's bridge
I've been standing so long

the moths have been eating my clothes

and even though I can crane my head and see the sky—which is endless and going to swallow me up if I'm here even a second longer—and I can let my head fall and see my feet—planted on the bridge above the sea that is the sky's tongue ready to lap me—east is west and down is up and

I don't know much of anything I used to