you know
we get trapped facing the wall
vision pixelated into
drying bits of wallboard
flakes of dusty

very dusty paint

holding close

the view is so terrible
so bad
so ever-present and under the
wind of decrepit

particles and plants
the roving energies it takes
to know you demolish
is the glory of possibilities

facing walls
limiting view because too much
too much!

but it’s not too much in the view
it’s too much in self

complaining about the wall
the paint
we go deeper ………..

the skies cry!
the windows shake with abject fortitude
clinging focus
on focus itself … the concept of a black hole
how our imagination imagines ends

I have my reasons.

Bartleby, after all …….. deserved to be
understood, too


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