whew what a heart breaker and all these things coming in… when I write I feel so confined by the gaze of these patronages, like appendages, to be amputated and limped on without, like that episode of the jerry springer show with that guy, he just felt this pain in his foot for the longest time, and then one day the pain started to spread, and it spread up to his ankle, and his knee and his hip, so he got a hack saw and just offed it from the foot, and then the knee, and then further up. And then it happened that the other foot was hurt, and it spread as well, and so he had to cut off his leg from the knee down. And there he was on Jerry, just plain as day, this is what needed to happen, and this is what I did about it. When the only
thing that remains
is still and quiet
it clings to the memory of what came before, like a cat on a curtain
tearing through the delicate lace, passed down the generations, imported from England, in the 1600s, made in a factory that replaced a shop run by a small family, and the babushka she weaved this lace from a pattern in her dream and she dreamed about the stars and she dreamed about the leaves and the needles that pattered and pittered and pattered across the forest floor and they glowed purple and gold and red and pinks in the autumn mornings.
And I breath in the autumn air and there’s nothing to remember. I owe you
nothing, and you’ll borrow nothing because that’s what you expect from me. All I owe.