this, the living hand to mouth thing i've been doing is fraying at the edges and spitting out the stuffing, the shapeless lump of tangled shadows . my thoughts fizzle out half formed, aborted, try again

how still i am, how silent. i cease to exist from hour to hour, starting and stopping like a streaming music file on a slow connection

(il y a un silence enrancinée dans mes jours, and all sound curves around me and fades for i am in a bell jar of delicate stained glass and fingertip smudges)

i said i forget and recall in inconstant slippery surf like a ship in the bosphorus (i return to lacking in memory and grow sick of this thing the city, this forgotten stunted spawn of cities, the pseudo polis in which i don't dream and barely sleep, scrabbling with nails and teeth and claws against the glass) and i do i forget it all i am erasing
every small recollection
(wonder if maybe too much of my life is spent in parenthesis)

bone weary i am ending like the year it is november already
y de mi el rugido que salia
it winds down with a moan of color yellow
and sour with longing

i feel like a strange airborne creature, of wingspan and uncertain purchase upon branches and lighter than air and frantic pecking
i mean, don't you know , i know i don't, but somebody must

there must be a door in the cage of the world