outside, my professor lights a pipe beside the daffodils, and we make small talk about the cigarette butts in the dirt and the history of natural science.
He travelled south in a small blue wagon, for no particular reason except the summers are dry and the air is silent,
….
inside mould grows on glass windows, wood rotting damp dissipates the rain through its splinters cracked rooms containing muses, alight with the glow of creation, reinvention
I am taught to eat with chopsticks at a fast food restaurant each Friday night; I learn to break them in two before I eat, dissect myself in certain manners of precision indulge in cakes with sprinkles spires lining streets the lamps in the evening dull for flashes of traffic souls in sachets about to be added in a hot drink, or instant frappe we dissolve
into particles about the place in certain manners of precision break in two before we indulge impart chromosomes collaborate
in the rooms, in the mage’s quarters dollar bills are sniffed and sorted LSD and Ecstasy crossed, contorted butterflies have patterns in conversations on their wings, in teacups, sipping Spanish ***
drag my son up a hill to **** him, in the ash tree foliage, faces in the sky and ask of grace deliver me to the divine class of men what am I if only captive to contagion?
After all, I spread across windows like mould each hour multiplying to become sporadic, spatial, discovering the heart’s variation
insofar as we are variable asking Sophie, my daughter, to empty the dishwasher, I pray she wonders why we have cups of coins in our pockets why we ache
atoms about the place in certain manners of precision break in two before we indulge impart chromosomes collaborate