2d
1 I sat there, reading you a story.
1.1 Well, reading a story to myself, maybe even in my head, not sure.
1.12 I used a small light clipped onto the binder. I bought a fresh triple 'A' battery in the little pharmacy on the ground floor, beside the broken escalator.
1.13 I brought my binoculars too.
1.131 The windows in your room faced west over a helicopter landing pad and the parking lots of another hospital, an ok view at night, and I could look into the rooms of that hospital and sometimes see a kid looking back at me, unseeing.
1.2 You were usually half-asleep when I got there, but still willing to talk about the flocks of crows that streamed by your window at dusk.
1.21 The setting sun carved them into the sky. By the time I got there all that was left was the windsock on the roof of the hospital, twisting in the indefinite sunset.
2 The world is coming out, isn't it?
2.01 As if from a broken centrifuge, it is going to fly out and splatter on these walls.
2.012 Whatever energy I have left to write at all arises from the centripetal force gathered those nights, their gravity and implacable stillness.
2.1 I sat with my thermos of mint tea, my feet were on the nurse's stool, the night before us.
2.2 Can something forever conceal itself from, yet express itself in, the world?
2.21 This question in the letter I was reading when it started.
3 Blood everywhere.
3.01 There is still a spot on my wool sock.
3.1 All over the floor in the bathroom.
3.2 And in the sink.
3.21 And when I looked up in the bathroom mirror I saw your eyes. Your eyes!
3.3 And the small vessels in your sclerae were bleeding.
4 Breathe.
4.1 And each item can be the case or not the case while everything else remains the same.
5 And you cannot.
6 Death a midwife.
1.1 Well, reading a story to myself, maybe even in my head, not sure.
1.12 I used a small light clipped onto the binder. I bought a fresh triple 'A' battery in the little pharmacy on the ground floor, beside the broken escalator.
1.13 I brought my binoculars too.
1.131 The windows in your room faced west over a helicopter landing pad and the parking lots of another hospital, an ok view at night, and I could look into the rooms of that hospital and sometimes see a kid looking back at me, unseeing.
1.2 You were usually half-asleep when I got there, but still willing to talk about the flocks of crows that streamed by your window at dusk.
1.21 The setting sun carved them into the sky. By the time I got there all that was left was the windsock on the roof of the hospital, twisting in the indefinite sunset.
2 The world is coming out, isn't it?
2.01 As if from a broken centrifuge, it is going to fly out and splatter on these walls.
2.012 Whatever energy I have left to write at all arises from the centripetal force gathered those nights, their gravity and implacable stillness.
2.1 I sat with my thermos of mint tea, my feet were on the nurse's stool, the night before us.
2.2 Can something forever conceal itself from, yet express itself in, the world?
2.21 This question in the letter I was reading when it started.
3 Blood everywhere.
3.01 There is still a spot on my wool sock.
3.1 All over the floor in the bathroom.
3.2 And in the sink.
3.21 And when I looked up in the bathroom mirror I saw your eyes. Your eyes!
3.3 And the small vessels in your sclerae were bleeding.
4 Breathe.
4.1 And each item can be the case or not the case while everything else remains the same.
5 And you cannot.
6 Death a midwife.
