my hands aren’t wings
pour weight but not out into space or the floor just to the surface
“forget who gave me this sweater” I remember
moving around two axis at once (dumb)
an angle is made by gifting your whole body
shiny things
a wormhole for a framework
encounter = see (duh) plus let self be seen which fucks up seeing that’s why it’s funny
fruit with pits   fruit with hard outer shell   fruit with no outer shell   no fruit
this house is the exact age when my grandfather came to this country, this city and this tree
all at once I’m not noticing stories these objects are meant to reassure me of
shadow grows smaller = devastating (for real)

this time when I do the practice, it starts with the thing that I can see that’s furthest away – not the actual star out the window ‘cuz the lights are on but in a picture of space and wormholes, framed in the center, one bright lone star exploding. Those toys named for ancient civilizations when you throw them they explode, actual shards. Like August’s blood, twelve weeks gone. Except to encounter it I don’t choose this but know it is already that far. Next, a screw – the head, to be exact – two circles, shiny as the dimes in that bedtime chapterbook – reading it thinking it’s like dinner vegetables, “dimes” and “yar”, vocabulary he doesn’t know and has no cause to know is probably even better for kids, right? I know I’ll just croon and he can sort of get it by osmosis. Like, why not tell the kid with the queer and not-cis parents (us) about the little mouse clapping gentlemen on the back, bowing to the ladies on the street, waving his cap “jauntily”. And thus was started on the path to madness. His (the mouse’s) mother keeps crying at the end of each scene, but does nothing to protect him from the mean cat and dogs. I walk by someone digging out her car, and it’s palpable, her sense of obligation and resentment a cocktail sloshing at this address. As though the body were a history house and all that material seeping through each encounter ‘till we’re constantly falling apart wet paper bag at the seams. What’s the relationship between the new pathos leaf unfurling and the notes on the sheet music stand nearby? The same painting over and over – two figures and between them a house and behind that a tree. Ezra gives me one of his presents, a piece of tape, says it’s the vaccine, no it’s the shot that put our cat to sleep, no now he says it’s a solar battery from the mean neighbor, I raise a brow. The parking neighbor is finishing up an igloo in his front yard. He doesn’t seem to have friends except today one is threatening to bring over soup, another sticks a branch in the ground. I’m not naming anything anymore. It’s just more situational grammar. If A could whittle B would spark.